


Thank You for the Music

by coslyons



Series: A Song of the Heart [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Conductor!Adam, Deaf!Blue, F/M, M/M, Pianist!Gansey, Violinist!Ronan, violin au, when ideas about a violinist au go way too far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 24,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coslyons/pseuds/coslyons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam is a musical genius on a scholarship at the elite Aglionby Music Conservatory. In order to get in to Juilliard, he needs a violin soloist to play his symphony.<br/>Ronan is a classically trained violinist dealing with anger issues and a school-issued mandate to perform in a student concert of some kind in order to graduate.<br/>It could be a match made in heaven. Or hell.<br/>Because music is about passion. And passion sometimes hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

Adam was having a decidedly disastrous Monday.

His alarm had not gone off at six like it was supposed to. His car had refused to start despite his best attempts at convincing it to cooperate, so he had had to ride his old bicycle that he was now too tall for to school. There had been a pop quiz in his calculus class that he had been completely unprepared for and almost certainly failed.

And now, he receives the worst news of all during his favorite class.

The violin soloist that was supposed to play the piece he had written for his senior final in music composition had broken their arm this weekend. Why Andrew had decided to get into such a nasty fight so close to such an important event escaped him, but now he was left to deal with the consequences of this.

“There are plenty of talented violinists at this school, Adam. I’m sure it would be no problem to find another violinist who could learn your piece in a month.”

The persistent voice of Mr. Petrarcha caused Adam to raise his head just enough to give him a withering look. _Right._ It would be very easy to find another violinist to master in a month what had taken the last one the entire semester to master. _Totally. Piece of cake._

_God, what a disaster._ He really should have learned that nothing in his life would come easy by now. And now his chance of getting that scholarship to Julliard is completely ruined. Go figure. Adam rubbed his face with his hands and then sighed.

“I can’t think of anyone right now who could handle the technical aspects properly. I guess we will just have to hold open auditions for the solo position and hope we find someone superficially competent enough to not embarrass themself.”

When he would have time for that, who knew? Maybe he could cancel Susan Peters’ piano lesson on Friday, and ask to come in late to the auto shop? Friday would be enough time for all the violinists at the school to learn about the audition and practice enough to show whether they were capable or not. _Too much to do, and not nearly enough time in which to do it._

Hopefully he’d be able to find someone who could learn his music in a month. He needed to get out of this town, and Juilliard was his ticket to greatness.

 

* * *

 

“Now, Mr. Lynch,” the principal said, his fat belly straining over his belt as he leaned forward. “We’ve been very lenient in this matter because of what happened to your father, but the time for leniency has passed. You need to clean your act up. If I hear you’ve gotten in to anymore fights on school property, you will be expelled immediately.”

Ronan scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. He opened and closed his fists to watch the knuckles move below the surface. His knuckles were still scabbed from where he had hit that prick, Andrew something-or-other. Asshole had deserved it.

“And,” _god why doesn’t this man ever stop talking_ , “if by some miracle you manage not to get in any fights for the remainder of the year, you will still be ineligible for graduation without a senior performance of some kind. Several of our other students have shows coming up, and so I recommend you audition for at least one of these shows. Are we clear, Mr. Lynch?”

Raising his eyes, Ronan saw that the principal had leaned toward him with what was probably supposed to be an irate expression that instead leaned more towards nervous. _Stupid pompous ass._

Baring his teeth in a facsimile of a smile, Ronan replied. “Crystal.”

The principal did not look any more comforted by Ronan’s approximation of a sincere smile as he stood to let Ronan out of his office.

The parking lot and freedom were only about five hundred feet right outside the door, and Ronan intended to go straight for both, but was curtailed by the principal’s hand on his shoulder propelling him to the audition board in the commons.

_Maybe he’s not as stupid as I thought he was_.

The principal gave a sweaty huff and a smarmy grin. “I’ll walk you over to the audition board, son, so I can make sure you sign up for an audition. We’ll be keeping track of your progress in this area.”

There was another student pinning up a piece of paper with the words VIOLIN SOLOIST NEEDED emblazoned across the top in large letters. He had an elegant face, with fine bones and dusty eyelashes that brushed his cheeks. He smoothed down the paper with gentle hands just before walking away.

“What incredible luck, Mr. Lynch!” _Could he get any more fucking irritating?_ “There happens to be an audition for you to make this Friday. I’ll be making sure you get the sheet music from Mr. Petrarcha. Mr. Parrish is one of his students.”

Ronan jerked his shoulder from where the man’s meaty hand was still resting on it. “I’ll be sure to do that. Now if, you’ll excuse me, I have a class to be getting to, unless you’d like to punish me for missing class, too.”

The overweight principal narrowed his beady eyes. “See that you do you make it to class.”

The man waddled back to his office, probably to eat another small child.

Ronan turned toward the door, completely prepared to leave. At that moment, however, Gansey, with his mastery of bad timing, walked up. Frowning, he looked over Ronan and his probable path. “Ronan, you’re not thinking of skipping class again, are you?”

Instead of waiting for the response, Gansey merely walked towards their next class, as if he completely expected Ronan to fall in right behind him.

_Well, he’s not wrong._

Ronan went to class.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey.
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

Adam walked into school the next morning, only to be greeted immediately by Petrarcha rushing up to speak to him.

“I found you someone who can probably handle the technical aspects of the piece.”

Adam, still unfocused from his sleepy daze, took a moment to process this new information, and then another moment to force out a question. “Who?”

“Ronan Lynch. A few years ago, he was one of the best violinists this school had ever seen. He hasn’t really done a whole lot since his father died, but now he seems to be willing to audition for the soloist position.”

Ronan Lynch. The name had maybe come up in conversation at one point. It sounded familiar. But what did he look like?

Adam realized that Petrarcha had been staring expectantly at him the entire time he had been trying to match a face to the name. “That sounds perfect actually. Has he seen the music yet?” _Can he play it?_

“I’ve given the music to him so he’ll have a chance to look it over before Friday.” Maybe Andrew’s broken arm had happened for the best. Andrew was good, but he was not best-violinist-in-the-school good. Besides, Andrew’s talent on the violin hadn’t been the deciding reason why Adam had picked him in the first place. _Things could go right for once._

Adam went to his first class with a renewed pep in his step.

 

* * *

 

Ronan was at his childhood home, the Barns, about forty-five minutes outside of town.

He was not drunk yet, but he was well on his way there.

On the table in front of him sat a bottle of single malt whiskey, a glass, and a violin case.

He traced the lines of the case with his eyes. Each snag and tear in the cloth cover of the case caught his gaze with familiar ease. The familiarity burned in his chest. Slowly he raised his hand to the clasp, not with the intent to open it (not yet), but with the intent to relearn what he had forgotten in the time they’d been apart. His hand stuttered, and then rested on the table about three inches away from the case. _I need another drink._

The whiskey burned like his memories as it slid down his throat.

 

It was only after several hours, and several additional fingers of whiskey, that Ronan had the courage to open the case.

He jerked open the clasps and flung open the lid quickly, before he could talk himself out of it again. There, lying against the wine colored velvet, lay his heart. It gleamed in the dim light of the room. Light played across its polished wooden surface. There was no air in the room; this violin, his violin, seemed to consume it all. Relief and anguish battled in his heart. _I’ve missed you._

The urge to pick it up overwhelmed all hesitation. With trembling fingers, he stroked across the smooth curve of the body, ran the pads of his fingers against the strings. The jarring sound of the strings that had not been tuned in over a year gave this moment the jolt of reality it needed.

Grasping the neck with gentle fingers, he lifted the rich, dark wood from the case. Laying the bottom across his knees, he began to pluck the strings lightly, turning the pegs minute amounts. _G, D, A, E. Repeat._ The concrete and methodical actions helped him settle his roiling stomach and racing heart.

_Now for the bow._

Reaching into the case once more, Ronan pulled out the bow, the horsehair hanging lightly in its loosened state. _You have to lay down the violin for now._ Ronan placed the violin back in its case.

Out of habit, he held the bow up in front of him as he tightened it, his right wrist twitching to turn the knob. The hair of the bow gradually became tighter and tighter until it was perfect. _It needs rosin._

Reaching into the pocket of the case, Ronan pulled out a small plastic box. Inside the box was a small, well-used lump of rosin, nearly orange in color. Holding the rosin in his left hand and the bow lightly in his right, Ronan began to run the bow over the rosin. He felt the bow start to slide less and less easily as it became more and more coated with the rosin. _Nearly there._

His bow sufficiently rosined, Ronan stood and grabbed the violin by its neck once more, this time more sure of himself. He fished the shoulder rest out of the case and attached it to the violin.

Raising the instrument to his collarbone, he pressed his jawbone to the chinrest. His hand found the starting position with practiced ease. His wrist automatically straightened. He lifted his right arm to place the frog of the bow on the D string.

With his soul surging as he laid the bow across the strings, Ronan began to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played cello in my high school orchestra, so most of my knowledge is somewhat second hand. Also, the violin's name is Chainsaw.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.
> 
> I also make playlists at http://8tracks.com/lys-tlessly (this is merely a shameless self-promotion, and I am only a little sorry for it)

The rest of the week passed in a blur of orchestral arrangements, calculus homework, and arpeggios for Adam. The violin solo was the most important part of his symphony, but it was certainly not the only part that needed to be practiced again and again until it was perfect.

After-school rehearsals and after-rehearsal jobs and after-jobs homework had left Adam tired. _It’s not just this week, though. It’s every week._

But it was Friday today. One of Adam’s many worries could finally be alleviated. He would finally have a violin soloist, and a damn good one at that. The audition was merely a formality at this point. Every other violinist had taken one look at the music and politely declined after seeing the runs and trills Adam’s music had in store for them.

Adam could barely sit through his last class as the time got closer and closer to Ronan’s audition.

Finally, _finally_ , the end of school rolled around. It was all Adam could do not to sprint to the audition room on the other side of campus.

When he finally got to the audition room, a boy stood in front of the door. He was well groomed, with a tan that probably came from vacationing somewhere tropical and a shirt that probably not been purchased anywhere with the word “mart” in its name. The watch around his wrist was very large and flashed in the light as he thumbed his lip. _This must be Ronan._

Adam called out to him, just to make sure. “Ronan?”

The boy jolted and Adam held out his hand for Ronan to shake, and continued, “Hello! I’m Adam. Thank you so much for agreeing to audition for the violin solo in my symphony. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you.”

Ronan had looked very confused during Adam’s introduction, but as Adam watched, the confusion resolved itself into vague amusement as he shook Adam’s hand with a firm grasp.

“Oh, _I’m_ not Ronan,” said the boy who was apparently not Ronan. “I’m Gansey. I’m a friend of Ronan’s. Violin wa–is his thing. Piano’s mine. He’s in the practice room tuning and warming up.”

Well shit. That’s embarrassing. Adam could feel his entire face turning pink as he opened the door to the practice room. Once inside the room, he was met with the back of a tall, tattooed boy with a shaved head and a violin in his hand. At the sound of the door closing, the boy turned around, his sharp blue eyes and angular face regarding Adam with mild suspicion.

“You’re Parrish, then?”

Adam blinked at the harsh tone. “I am indeed. You must be Ronan. I’ve heard great–“

“Let’s cut the shit and get on with this. You may have all fucking day, but I sure as fuck don’t.”

Adam narrowed his eyes, and sat in a nearby chair. “By all means, let’s get this over with.”

_He better be very, very good at the violin for this to be worth it._

Ronan smirked at Adam, and lifted his violin to his shoulder.

“You’d better brace yourself, Parrish.”

Rolling his eyes, Adam said to Ronan, “Are you going to get on with it or not?”

At that, Ronan laid the bow on the strings and started the first note of Adam’s piece. The notes flowed like water from his violin. His bowing was deliberate, the muscles in his arms flexing with each upstroke and downstroke. His fingers lightly touched the strings at just the right pitch. His vibratos were clean and tugged right at Adam’s heartstrings.

As Ronan took the notes up and up and up the scale, Adam’s heart went with them. _It’s like he’s playing the music straight from my head._

Too soon, Ronan stopped, and Adam felt the world deflate slightly, as if the universe had been held up solely by the force of the music.

_Okay, yeah. He’s definitely the violinist for this part._

 

* * *

 

Ronan collapsed from his playing stance, only to see that Parrish kid looking unguarded, the light filtering across the planes of his face, his eyes fluttering, and his lips slightly parted. For a moment there was no sound but the sound of Ronan’s breathing, no movement but the dust motes in the golden late afternoon light.

And then moment passed as Adam blinked and shifted. Ronan felt the loss of the music more keenly then. It had been like something from a dream. _But dreams don’t last forever. Reality destroys the beautiful things._

Music hadn’t felt like that in a long time. And then it had suddenly crashed down once he had remembered why he hadn’t played in so long. _This has happened every time I’ve tried to play._

“I have third period as my music composition course, and according to Petrarcha you also have an independent study period then as well. We can go over the piece then.”

Ronan placed Chainsaw back in her case, sans shoulder rest, and began to loosen his bow as Adam continued.

“We can also go over the piece on weekends, if you let me know beforehand. Right now, your priority is memorizing the piece. We can cover nuances later.”

Ronan closed the case and snapped the clasps shut.

“Do you have a phone number I can contact you with?”

When Ronan glanced up, Adam was holding out a pen and a slip of paper. Wordlessly, Ronan scrawled his name and phone number on the scrap, and then returned both pen and paper to Adam.

Shouldering his backpack, and grabbing his violin case, Ronan walked out the door to where Gansey was waiting.

Gansey was looking oddly misty eyed as he and Ronan walked to Gansey’s bright orange Camaro, affectionately dubbed the Pig. However, it wasn’t until Gansey had managed to start the car and they were about a mile away from the school that Gansey finally told Ronan what had been on his mind.

“I haven’t heard you play since…well, you know,” Gansey said hesitantly.

Ronan shifted in his seat. _Since his father had died. Yeah._

Instead of responding, Ronan merely grunted, and hoped Gansey would drop it.

Gansey seemed to get the message, and the rest of their car ride passed in awkward semi-silence, with only the sounds of the Pig’s struggling engine to mark the passing time.

Soon enough, they arrived at the parking lot of Monmouth Manufacturing, where Gansey had taken up residence three years ago because ‘the acoustics of this old building are fantastic’, and Ronan had taken up residence two and a half years ago after the death of his father. As soon as Gansey put the car in park, Ronan tore out of the Pig, thundered up the stairs, and slammed the door to his room shut.

Plugging his iPod into a speaker, he finally let himself listen to the music his father had left him. As the smooth notes and flowing runs reminded him of the warm smiles and paternal affection of his childhood, Ronan felt tears streak down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, Adam and Ronan have finally met. And also Gansey makes an appearance. Blue and the ladies of 300 Fox Way will appear soonish as well.
> 
> I've got a playlist of violin songs I listen when writing the descriptions of the music, if anyone's interested.
> 
> Also, I am massively overwhelmed with studying for AP tests (so many, so many), and so this will probably not get updated quite as often. I'm still going to be writing it though, as this is my stress relief. (The curative powers of writing AU fic for your gay ass ship.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey, if you wanna come chat there.
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

It was two in the morning. Adam sat bolt upright in his bed. There was music in the church below him. It wasn’t Christmas.

Adam had moved into a small apartment above the church offices of St. Agnes Catholic Church several months previously, due largely to the fact that his father had hospitalized him for several weeks and caused him to lose hearing in his left ear. Luckily, the ladies of 300 Fox Way, his longtime friends and sometimes employers, had allowed him a spare room until he had been able to find a place of his own.

His place there was small, affordable, and, most importantly, away from his father.

The only time his apartment came anywhere close to being a problem was when the church bells rang at early hours of the morning after he had had a late night. Or when the church held midnight mass on holidays. Or when some asshole decides to have orchestra rehearsal at two in the fucking morning.

Adam paused, and repositioned his head to try and hear the song better, but he could only make out faint strains of violin. He was too awake to try and go back to sleep at this point. _Might as well go see what they’re playing._

Adam put on a shirt and some sweatpants so there was at least some semblance of decorum ( _who walks into a church in just boxers?_ ), and then walked out the door. He padded lightly down the stairs and into the church sanctuary, all the while following the sound of a violin that grew stronger and stronger as he walked closer.

The song sounded like heartbreak. The minor key and the sorrowful vibratos wrenched at Adam’s heart. The notes tripped over each other, hesitant and mournful. The soft grace notes fluttered like hope, but only for a short moment; this was not a song of hope but of loss.

The music was hauntingly familiar, though Adam knew he’d never heard it before.

Adam had finally gotten close enough to the violinist that he could make out their figure in the moonlight.

The light played off the sharp planes of his face. His cheeks were shining as he swayed in time with the music. Adam felt like he knew who the violinist was, almost before the name came to him.

In front of the altar stood Ronan Lynch.

 

* * *

 

Gansey did not approve of alcohol. When Ronan would try and stop feeling for just little while, Gansey would just purse his lips disapprovingly.

So Ronan was at the church he grew up attending. He wasn’t sure if he believed in God anymore, not after what happened to his dad.

He still believed in music though. And so he was letting himself mourn properly for father in the true Celtic fashion. His father never had a funeral lament, and so his ghost had been lingering in Ronan’s music for the past few years. Tonight was the night he planned to let his father free.

And for that, he needed to be very drunk.

_It’s fitting that my father’s lament will happen in a church._

Ronan didn’t even bother with the glass this time. The whiskey smelled like vanilla, wood, and his father. He took a pull from the bottle, and waited for the burning in his throat to start. It was easier when he could pretend that the burning was only from the whiskey.

Drinking a little bit more from the bottle, he placed Chainsaw onto his shoulder.

He began the saddest song he could remember learning from his father. He began slow, rusty from a lack of practice and a fading memory.

The music resonated in the church and in Ronan.

Once he started, trippingly, the music began to flow more and more easily. His heart and his fingers remembered more easily than his mind, it seemed. Soon, he was able to lose himself to the music.

Music had always been the way Ronan had allowed himself to feel things. It was the gift given to him by his father. But really, it was also a gift he made for himself.

He was not one for handling emotions well. He had thought that by giving up the music, he’d be honoring his father’s memory somehow. That getting a massive tattoo and an alcohol addiction was better. _What a load of shit that was._

The music felt better the longer he played. Gradually, the music started shifting from the slow dignity of laments to the joyous dancing notes of a reel. The notes started coming faster and faster and Ronan felt free for the first time in nearly three years.

Finally drawing to a close, Ronan smiled to himself.

Someone sneezed behind him. Ronan jumped about a foot in the air and whirled around.

Adam was there, barefoot in a thin shirt and threadbare sweatpants, his hair sticking up in sleep-mussed tufts. He looked sheepish, as Ronan stalked toward him, violin and bow still in hand.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Parrish?”

Adam flushed, and responded, “I actually live here. You woke me up with your violin music.”

Ronan stepped closer until he was nearly chest-to-chest with Adam. “Get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass.”

Adam looked as though he might have been willing to fight Ronan for a moment, but then he turned around and walked to the partially open door leading to the church offices.

Just before closing the door, he paused and said scathingly, “See you Monday, Lynch.”

Ronan found himself breathing hard as he watched Adam leave, as though he had just been fighting instead of merely staring. _God fucking damn it, Parrish._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AP tests are brutal and I'm maybe dying a little bit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

Monday came yet again, as Mondays do, with its fair share of disasters. _To be fair, at least it’s not as bad as it was last week._

It seemed to have hit that point of the year where Adam immune system had gone to shit. Stress, and whatever flavor of virus that had been going around Aglionby certainly hadn’t helped Adam’s health. He was also sure his late nights spent working on homework after he got home from work and his lack of adequate food were not helping either.

So not only was Adam blowing his nose nearly constantly, he couldn’t stop coughing long enough to properly conduct the music as he was supposed to.

And all of this was before he had seen Ronan today. It was likely that whatever Ronan had been doing in the church on Saturday had not been something Adam should have seen. Ronan didn’t seem the type to voluntarily show any sort of weakness.

Adam anxiously awaited the start of third period so he could talk to Ronan about Saturday. He still didn’t know whether he wanted to apologize or ask him a million questions (the first of which would have been “are you okay?” and the close second of which would have been “who the hell taught you to play like that?”).

However, when Ronan slammed the door to the practice room, he was spared from having to say anything about the incident at all.

“We are not talking about anything aside from the fact that my bow is completely fucked and I need it re-haired today.”

Ronan’s face looked thunderous as he continued, “And, I will not be giving my bow to the incompetent fuckers that run the repair shop here. They will take forever and still fuck up the job. Do you know any repair shops that work quickly and well?”

 _Of course he did._ “Yeah. 300 Fox Way is a great place for all things music. They should be able to handle it after school today. I can take you there, if you’d like.”

“Good.”

Adam knew he should definitely try to address what happened Saturday, so he hesitantly began to say, “Hey so, about Saturday–“

“I already told you I don’t want to talk about it, so drop the fucking subject.”

 _Well, not getting anywhere with that today._ “I have a temporary bow you can use for this period until we can get yours fixed. And there’s no need to be such an asshole when people are trying to help you.”

Ronan rolled his eyes, a gesture that involved more parts of his body than one would imagine. “Hand it over, and then you can nitpick at my playing all you’d like, oh great concert master.”

Ronan began playing loudly before Adam could come up with a witty enough retort.

 

* * *

 

Ronan lurked outside of Adam’s last period, waiting for the bell to ring, Sure, he’d had to duck out of economics ten minutes early. But really, he was sacrificing useless knowledge about supply and demand in favor of the fine arts. Surely he was doing the world a favor by giving it something other to look forward to besides the components of GDP.

The final bell rang, and a steady stream of students rushed out the door, eager to be gone. Ronan scanned the faces as they passed by him. _No Adam though._

Looking over the heads of the students as they exited the room, Ronan saw Adam talking to the teacher, his hands shaping his question in the air. _Who the hell cares that much about economics of all things._

By the time Adam had finished asking his question, all the students in the entire school had left, it seemed. He seemed a little surprised to see Ronan leaning against the doorframe as he gathered his things and began the trek to the parking lot.

Adam seemed lost in his own head, so Ronan just followed him to his car.

Well. Sort of. If you could call a monstrous collection of various types and pieces of at least three cars a car.

Adam seemed to sense Ronan’s judgement of his car. The skin around his eyes seemed ever so slightly tighter. “You coming?”

“I don’t know where this fucking music shop is, remember?”

Adam grinned as they both got into the car. “It’s funny. I somehow thought that everyone knew about 300 Fox Way around here.”

The car spluttered and groaned before the engine finally caught.

Putting the car into reverse, Adam threw his hand to the back of Ronan’s seat as he turned around to check the parking lot behind them for cars. His hand brushed against Ronan’s arm as Adam withdrew his hand and turned back to shift to first gear.

The ride to 300 Fox Way was silent save for the sounds of Adam’s blinker when he made turns and the grinding of the gearbox when Adam shifted gears.

As they turned the corner on to Fox Way, the silence was dissolved by a faint racket that grew gradually louder as they approached their destination.

The word Ronan would use to describe 300 Fox Way is a pretentious word Gansey would have been proud of: cacophony. Ronan wished there was a less snobby way to describe the mess of instrumental noises, drum beats, and human voices that was clearly audible from where he and Adam had parked along the curb. Here and there, Ronan caught partial lines from songs he knew, or had heard once, but these coherent bits of music were soon lost to the noise in the background.

“Come on, Ronan. They’re expecting us.”

As they walked along the cracked and buckled sidewalk up to the front door, Ronan’s head spun slightly with the different kinds of music surrounding him. His brain wanted to listen to everything, but nothing stuck long enough to leave anything more than a vague and disorienting impression of its musical content.

When they reached the front door, Ronan felt an acute need to sit down. Adam rang the doorbell. It seemed like an impossibility that anyone had heard the sound of the doorbell in the overwhelming mess of sound in the house, but a extremely short girl with spiky hair clipped up with a large quantity of brightly colored hair pins answered the door. Adam smiled at the girl before making a gesture that involved touching his hand to his forehead and saluting.

Apparently it was a way to say hello because the girl made the gesture in return and indicated that they should follow her. Adam leaned in close to Ronan and spoke directly next to his ear.

“Blue’s going to take you into the kitchen while I fetch Persephone. She’s the one who’ll fix your bow.”

Ronan nodded, and then started to follow the girl, Blue, down the hallway.

“So, is this place always this loud?” Ronan was practically shouting at the girl’s back as he tried to make himself heard over the background noise.

No response. She probably hadn’t heard him. Wouldn’t be surprising.

They finally reached what appeared to be a kitchen, and the noise abated somewhat. The girl (Blue, Ronan reminded himself) went over to a cabinet and withdrew two glasses which she then proceeded to fill with water at the sink.

“Is it always this loud here?” Ronan pointed his question at the Blue. _It’s quieter here, she’ll have heard me this time._

Still, no response.

Ronan raised his voice and asked a third time. “Is it always this loud here?”

She didn’t even turn to acknowledge him.

Ronan reached over and grabbed Blue’s shoulder to turn her around. He was vaguely aware that Adam was walking through the door behind him.

“Hey, I was asking you a question.”

She looked a little shocked as Ronan continued, “God, what are you? Deaf?”

The shock quickly shifted into a murderous expression.

“As a matter of fact, I am. Asshole. Fuck you.” Her mildly garbled English was accompanied by a series of gestures that culminated in a middle finger aimed directly at Ronan.

Ronan glanced around wildly. Adam was leaning against the table looking equal parts amused and pained by the unfolding chain of events.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know you were actually deaf?”

“Why the fuck would you say something like that if you weren’t actually thinking the person is deaf?” She made another series of gestures as she spoke, then flipped him off again.

Ronan directed his most lethal glare at Blue. Blue glared back, her eyes equally homicidal.

At this time, Adam felt it necessary to interrupt them to prevent bloodshed, and walked in between them to prevent any sudden surges of violence.

Adam signed and spoke at the same time. “Alright, Ronan, Persephone is ready to take a look at your bow in her workshop.”

Ronan didn’t break eye contact with Blue.

“Blue, Ronan didn’t know, and so I’m going to apologize on his behalf.”

Turning back to Ronan, Adam said, “Alright let’s go ahead and get this taken care of.”

Behind Adam’s back, Blue made another rude gesture. Ronan returned the gesture this time, as he followed Adam out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote about Adam's immune system going to shit because mine has been doing the same thing. Exams are a bitch.
> 
> Please know that I listened to like six songs at once while writing the first bit of Ronan's POV, and it made me slightly nauseous. Please also know that Zigeurweisen and Gangham Style go eerily well together, and it was weird to listen to.
> 
> Also, if you are deaf or hard of hearing, please feel free to help me write Blue better. My only experience with hearing impairment is a friend of mine in orchestra, but he and I haven't talked in a good long while. I want to not be an asshole about this, and I am more than willing to fix problems you might have noticed as long as you are also not an asshole about it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

Really, he should have expected it. The collective violence in their two personalities was probably enough to start at least one world war. _At least I interceded before it got physical._

Adam remembered his first experience meeting Blue very vividly. When he had first laid eyes on her, she’d struck him as violently beautiful. Literally.

The first time they’d met, she’d knocked him flat on his ass for making a rude comment about her deafness. They’d been closer to the same size then, back in elementary school, so she easily overpowered him with the force of her anger.

Adam and Blue had dated briefly in middle school, an affair that, like Blue herself, was short and violently beautiful. After several intense shouting matches involving lots of rude hand gestures, he and Blue had decided they were better off as friends, and had remained good friends since.

In the years since those fateful arguments, Adam had learned to weather the tides of Blue’s impressive wrath. He had, quite frankly, been surprised that she hadn’t managed to knock Ronan flat on _his_ ass, despite the extra foot in height that he had on her.

As he led Ronan up the stairs, he heard the vague sounds of Ronan’s voice. _Damn. Ronan’s on my left side._

“Lynch, you’re going to have to stand on my right if you want me to hear you.” He felt his face twist into a wry grin. “Blue’s not the only deaf person here.”

Spots of color rose on Ronan’s cheekbones as he came to stand next to Adam’s right arm.

“Do you know sign language, then?” Ronan had his eyes averted from Adam. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Ronan was ashamed.

“Yeah. I learned in elementary school. Blue and I have known each other a long time. Sign definitely came in handy after...( _no, no he doesn’t need to know about that_ )...well, it came in handy.”

Just as Ronan seemed to be about to ask him another question, they had arrived at the door to Persephone’s room and workshop.

Eager to avoid answering what would likely be an invasive question he wasn’t sure he was prepared to answer ( _not yet_ ), Adam knocked lightly on the door and then quickly opened it.

Inside, Persephone, complete with her massive mane of poofy white hair, sat on a stool in front of her workbench. She already had her rehairing equipment laid on on the table in front of her.

Ronan looked perplexed at the sheer mass of Persephone’s hair. He looked even more perplexed when he met her dark, black eyes. Adam knew the feeling. Persephone has that effect sometimes.

“Lynch, give her your bow.”

Still looking baffled, Ronan set Chainsaw’s case on the table, opened it up, and withdrew the aforementioned bow. Persephone still hadn’t looked away from Ronan’s face the entire time this exchange had been taking place.

It was only as Adam took the bow from Ronan and held it out for Persephone that she snapped out of whatever trance she had been in.

Seemingly absently, she began to twist the adjuster at the end of the bow. The current bow hairs grew looser and looser.

Persephone spoke to them for the first time since they had entered the room when she had loosened the adjuster enough to remove it.

“You haven’t played in a very long time. At least a year and a half. That’s why the hairs are giving up on you now.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an observation. Ronan seemed a bit dumbstruck by this announcement at first, but his expression quickly shifted towards defensive. Although, truthfully, Adam himself had been a little surprised to hear that Ronan hadn’t been playing again until very recently. _He’s that good, and he hasn’t even been playing?_

She pried out the little wooden block holding the hairs into the top of the bow with a little pick, and continued. “There’s no shame in mourning.”

Using a clamp and a different set of little picks, she removed the hairs from the frog of the bow. She pulled a bottle from beneath the table, and used its contents to polish the wood of the bow.

“There is shame, however, in denying yourself.” With this she leveled a pointed look with a hint of mild disapproval at Ronan.

She stood then, and went over to where a selection of horse hair was hanging. She grabbed a section of it, and sat back down.

Ronan looked to be about to say something, but Persephone cut him off gently before he could speak. “No. Don’t try and argue. It’s written all over your face.”

She forced the hair into the top of the bow. Taking what looked like a toothbrush, she combed the horse hair until it it was smooth.

“The music will not work for you until you work for it.” She punctuated her words with a forceful clatter as she set the hairs into the bottom of the bow as well.

Adam glanced over to Ronan then. His face was an inscrutable mask. The sharp lines of his face made him look dangerous; a vengeful god punishing the unfaithful and the nonbelievers.

Persephone reattached the rest of the bow in a swift movement, and then held it out to Ronan. “You’ll need to rosin that well before you use it. But I’m sure you knew that.”

As Adam watched, Ronan grabbed the bow from Persephone with an exaggerated movement. It could have been the beginning of a punch, or the wary circling of one deadly predator around another. Ronan quickly put the bow back in Chainsaw’s case. His body was angry, but his hands were gentle.

Adam went ahead and walked over to open the door. Ronan brushed past him as he walked past.

Once outside, Ronan ran his hand over his buzzed head. He looked ready to explode.

Hoping to diffuse the tension, Adam spoke softly. “Persephone doesn’t mean any harm. She just doesn’t always realize that what she says could be interpreted as rude sometimes.”

Ronan huffed a bitter laugh at that. From his pocket, he fished out a sleek looking cell phone. He tapped at the screen a few times with his long fingers. Raising the phone to his ear, he said, “Gansey. Come get me. I’m at 300 Fox Way.”

There was a short pause. And then, “Look it up then!”

Another pause. “Parrish, what’s near here? Gansey doesn’t know where this place is.”

“I could give you a ride.” _I might have to eat a little less this week if he lives too far out of the way, but I could do it._

“No, Gansey’s already on his way.” Internally, Adam heaved a sigh of relief, as he listened to a thin and tinny noise that came from the speaker of Ronan’s cell phone. “I was asking Parrish, Gansey.”

Ronan paused again, the longest pause yet.

“He’s on the street out front now.” This seemed to be directed at Adam.

They walked silently down the stairs and to the front door, with nothing but the background noise and their own thoughts to accompany them.

Ronan opened the door, and gave a half wave to Adam as he said, “See you tomorrow during third period.”

 

* * *

 

Ronan strode down the sidewalk, and ripped open the door to the Pig. Throwing himself into the front seat, he took a moment to look back at the doorways of the house. Adam still stood in the doorway. Adam seemed to have noticed Ronan looking back, and raised a hand to say goodbye.

And Adam wasn’t the only one who noticed Ronan leaving 300 Fox Way. Blue stuck her head out of a window and flipped him off one last time as Gansey started to pull away from the house. Her gesture was not lost on Gansey.

“Jesus Christ, Ronan. What have you done to piss her off?”

Ronan couldn’t help but make a noise of disdain at that. “I made a bad joke, and she took it way too harshly.”

A wicked light bulb went off in Ronan’s head. “Can I use your laptop when we get back to Monmouth?”

Something in Ronan’s voice must tipped Gansey off because he asked, with some suspicion, “Why would you need to use my laptop?”

“Because I’m going to look up swear words in sign language. I have the unsettling feeling that I’ll be seeing that girl more frequently, if your starry eyes are anything to go off of. I don’t want to just keep using my middle finger. I’d like to add some variety.”

Gansey had begun to pinch the bridge of his nose while Ronan had been speaking. It was at that time that Ronan knew he was about to receive a motherly lecture from Gansey. In an attempt to try and stop Gansey before he really got into it, Ronan felt it necessary to add another reason for needing to learn bits and pieces of sign language.

“Besides, Parrish is partially deaf and it’s going to be a pain in my ass if I have to repeat myself ten million times for him to hear me.”

It turns out Ronan underestimated how well Gansey knew him. Gansey looked over at him, and said with some curiosity, some caution, “He seems like an interesting fellow.”

 _Just fucking drop it._ “Yeah, he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent the past weekend learning swears in sign so that I can write them. Also, watching a bow get rehaired is so fascinating.
> 
> Good news: I am more than halfway done with all the AP tests I'm supposed to take, so that's a plus.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

The next day during third period, Adam finally got to see the true measure of Ronan’s skills with the violin.

He was like a stampede of untamed mustangs, thundering through the notes with no care for the delicate creatures in his way. It was beautiful and wild.

And it was absolutely not what Adam wanted for this section.

“Lynch, this section requires delicacy. It’s soft. Pianissimo. Very quiet. You’ve got the first section down very well, but you have got to read the dynamics if you’re going to be able to play this.”

Ronan gestured sharply at the sheet music on the stand in front of him. “They’re staccato notes, Parrish. What other kind of playing are you fucking expecting?”

“Staccato. Like tiptoeing! Not like gunshots!” Adam ran his hands through his hair and gripped the sides of his head. “Delicate staccato! Not ‘take someone’s eye out’ staccato!”

Ronan gave Adam a judgemental look. “Whoa, Parrish. Pull the conductor’s baton out of your ass and calm the fuck down.”

_I am going to have to find another violinist soon because I am going to kill this one._

Pausing any thoughts in that vein, Adam took a long, slow, deep breath. And then another. And then one more for good measure. “We’re going to have to start meeting after school, too. There are only three weeks until the concert and we’re not even close to being ready.”

Ronan stared at the ceiling, as if he were asking god for patience. _Like **you’re** the one who needs patience right now._ “If we must. I’ll have to let Gansey know.”

Adam didn’t respond, but merely looked over the score in his hands. Scribbling a vague note to himself in the margins about DYNAMICS, he glanced over the rest of the piece to see if there were any other sections that wouldn’t require the delicacy Ronan seemed to lack today.

Before he could tell Ronan which section to play next, the bell rang, stopping any and all hopes of practicing it just a bit more during that class period.

There was no more anger now, just a frantic packing of instruments and scorebooks and sheet music.

Rushing down the hall, Adam made it to his physics class just before the tardy bell rang. All thoughts of his music were put to the side as he took meticulous notes about torques.

Before he was aware of it, the class period ended and it was time for lunch. Adam got a tray with unidentifiable sludge that was probably supposed have some sort of nutrition, and sat at his usual table in the back corner of the cafeteria. This was the table where those who didn’t have anyone else to sit with sat with each other. Misery loves company and all that jazz.

People didn’t really come over to this corner very often.

Which is why he was mildly surprised when Ronan came over, trailing behind the well groomed boy who Adam had initially mistaken for Ronan. _What was his name?_ Gansey.

The two of them sat on the opposite side of the table from Adam.

Gansey set a lunch bag on the table that could really only be described as quaint.

“Hello, Adam. I hope you don’t mind if we join you.”

Ronan looked uncomfortable at the table. He couldn’t meet Adam’s eyes, and so he just stared at the leather bands tangled around his wrist. Adam watched him absently pick at the bracelets for a while before he realized he hadn’t responded to whatever Gansey had said.

“Um. Yeah. Sure.”

Gansey withdrew from his quaint lunch box a square plastic container. Opening the container to reveal an unusual construction that might possibly have been a sandwich, he continued as though Adam hadn’t paused awkwardly, and said, “So Ronan has been telling me that you’ve both been working very hard on that piece of yours. When’s the concert again?”

Adam nearly choked swallowing the piece of food he had started to eat while Gansey had started speaking. He hadn’t really expected Gansey to start asking him questions so soon.

Eyes watering and coughing up a storm, Adam managed to choke out, “The eighteenth.”

“Oh, that’s very soon then. Only about three weeks left. Ronan keeps me up all hours of the night with his playing, but I do have to commend you. The music is some of the most interesting music I’ve heard in a very long time. What was your process in writing it?”

Gansey leaned forward in expectation.

Adam took a drink of water from his water bottle before responding. He was feeling a bit like a police suspect in the midst of an interrogation. It wasn’t that Gansey was being intimidating. It was just that Adam had the distinct impression that Gansey was sizing him up, or taking his measure as a human being, or trying to dig up his secrets. It wasn’t intimidating per se, but it was a little disconcerting being examined so closely.

Glancing at Gansey’s eager face, Adam cautiously said, “Well, sometimes when I was young, I’d dream of music. Eventually I just learned how to write it down.”

Gansey’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes lit up with sudden interest. “That is simply fascinating! Have you written things besides the piece Ronan’s playing?”

“Um. Yeah. They’re not quite as good, though, as this one.”

Gansey stared at Adam expectantly.

Adam could see it was too late to escape Gansey’s piqued interest. Resigning himself to the fact that Gansey probably wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d heard everything Adam had written since he’d first started writing music. Sighing, Adam figured he’d just offer it and get it over with. “I could show you sometime, if you’re interested.”

That was what Gansey had been waiting for, apparently, since he settled back from where he had been leaning forward and began eating his fancy sandwich once more. “I would be very interested, Adam.”

_Finally done with the interrogation._

“Now about your friend: Blue, Ronan said her name was?”

Adam groaned internally.

 

* * *

 

Ronan could not believe Gansey. Actually, wait. Nevermind. He could.

Gansey couldn’t resist a story or a piece of art or an interesting tidbit, and it seemed like Adam was now one of those stories that had ensnared Gansey.

“ _The universe is not made of atoms, Ronan_ ,” he’d always say. “ _It’s made of tiny stories._ ”

And the pursuit of these stories is what had led Gansey to Henrietta all those years ago. Stories about ancient kings sleeping for hundreds of years on magical ley lines were bound to draw Gansey to them like a moth to a flame.

Ronan knew his righteous anger was mostly unjustified. But his emotions tended towards extremes, when he could be bothered to emote in the first place.

Jealousy. Ronan knew that was what he was feeling now.

What he couldn't figure out was whether he was jealous of Adam for drawing the undivided attention of Gansey, or jealous of Gansey for being able to look so closely at Adam.

Either way, he wasn’t too willing to delve into his thoughts on the matter.

Hoping his brain could be cleared like an Etch-a-Sketch, he shook his head. There were remnants in the corners of his mind, he knew, but those could be ignored for now.

Bringing his focus back to the table, he saw Adam tapping his fingers on the table. _Für Elise_. Ronan watched Adam’s hands, and he could almost hear the music in his head.

Too soon, the bell rang, and lunch ended.

Adam walked off in one direction while he and Gansey went in another.

“I can see why you like him. He’s a cool guy.”

Gansey was giving him a sidelong glance.

“I don’t like him. Parrish is a picky prick who doesn’t know excellent playing even when it’s right in front of him.”

Gansey did nothing but quirk an eyebrow in incredulity.

Ronan felt the need to defend himself. From what, he didn’t really know. “I don’t like him!”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Ronan maybe wanted to break something. He also knew how Gansey would feel about that. He shoved down whatever the fuck he was feeling right now, with some difficulty.

When he looked over, Gansey had a smug smirk plastered on his face. The knowing quality and the self congratulating smarminess of his caused him to reach over and smack Gansey on the back of the head.

The smack did nothing to diminish the smugness of Gansey’s expression. Ronan rolled his eyes as they walked to English.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gansey quote about stories came from punkdraco's tags, and they got it from the Tiny Book of Stories (I believe that's what they said?).
> 
> Also I have to give massive props to my friend adamparrishisbi for helping me write the single best dialogue ever. Who knew staccato notes were so contentious?
> 
> I promise it's getting closer to actually being a romance. I wanted to establish a dynamic between them before making it romantic. Neither of them seems to be the type to throw their hearts out willy-nilly. The next couple of chapters show a lot of development in that area (I'm still editing though).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

Ronan was acting sketchy.

At first, Adam thought it was just antsiness caused by exhaustion: a child kept up far past their bedtime.

Granted, they had spent hours yesterday practicing, and it being a Wednesday at that. They had stayed long after school until Adam had needed to get to his shift. Adam knew that he himself was short on sleep; he imagined that the same must be true of Ronan.

But now, he was beginning to suspect it was something else entirely.

He'd seen Ronan tired before. The music he'd played then had been slower, sadder. But the technique had still been perfect.

Now, Ronan's fingers slipped on the strings. His bow bounced instead of gliding.

_He seems...flustered, for some reason._

Adam couldn’t imagine why. They had been going over this section for a while. That was probably part of the problem.

_Probably better to call it quits at this point._

“I don’t think we’re going to get much more done today, so it’s probably about time to head out.”

Ronan, who was fussing with his bow, jerked his head up in surprise. His cheeks were lightly flushed as he nodded.

Adam had turned his back to begin packing up his things, already lost in thoughts of what he had to do next. He heard the vague sound of Ronan’s voice behind him.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Ronan flushed darker and said, “I’m sick of playing all this classical shit. You need to hear what real music sounds like. I’m taking you to a place I know tomorrow, and you’re going to listen to the best music there is.”

Adam considered it for a little bit.

“Um. Okay. Tomorrow is my night off anyway.”

Ronan’s expression turned dangerous just then, all teeth and sharp edges.

“Fantastic. Be ready to go after tomorrow’s after school practice.”

He quickly closed up his case and stalked out the door, leaving Adam with the vague, yet unmistakable impression that Ronan was a tornado tearing out of the room.

He still wasn’t sure whether he himself was a part of the damage or not.

 

* * *

 

Ronan felt the car hum beneath him. Tonight was a night he felt electric. All the things he’d been shoving away for later had finally decided to rear their ugly heads. He was chasing an adrenaline rush, one that was best found in the whining of an engine and watching the speedometer climb higher and higher.

This was normally the time he’d find some misguided soul with a fast car and take their measure. Street racing. The smoke from the squealing tires and the reek of the burning fuel always reminded him of the simple pleasures from summers past. _They’re all gone now, though._

Ronan instead drove to the Barns. He took the winding roads as fast as he knew his car could handle.

He arrived in the driveway, and allowed his car to come to a sudden halt, spraying gravel in an arc away from where the tire had displaced it. Flinging himself from the car, he made to go into house. The fire in his blood caused him to stop after only a few steps.

He couldn’t handle the house right now. Not by himself.

So he went to one of the eponymous barns. The one that held his father’s old boxing gear.

A boxing violinist may sound like a contradiction to those who did not know Ronan Lynch, did not know the kind of father Niall Lynch was. At the same time he was learning scales and fingerings, he was also learning stances and hooks. Ronan always thought of the fighting as another kind of music. There was something beautiful about being in complete control of his body. Something beautiful in the sound of his knuckles hitting the bag (and later, other people’s faces).

In retrospect, it was probably for the better that Niall had taught Ronan to hit things without hurting himself. Ronan remembered fondly the feel of his father’s hands helping him wrap his knuckles. Absently, Ronan began to wrap his hands.

Violence is the only solution to the itching impatience lurking beneath his skin. The dull thumps of his fists striking the canvas of the bag is second only to the throbbing ache of his skin. Anger and restlessness burned him. He drove his knee into the bag. Kicked at it. The bag rattled on its chain.

The beat of his heart set the pounding rhythm he beat on the bag. Demons were a lot easier to kill when you could picture their ugly maws plastered to the sides of a punching bag. And Ronan did so with relish.

There wasn’t a dichotomy between his violin and his boxing. They were merely two sides of the same coin that was Ronan Lynch. They both required passion. They both required dedication. And both gave Ronan a way to speak when words failed him.

Most of the time, his music was sufficient in letting him vent off steam. But sometimes he just needed to beat the shit of something to be able to calm the fuck down.

Music had been a temperamental mistress. She’d left him when he’d needed her most. So, Ronan had gotten very good at letting his fists speak for him in her absence.

The real question he had for himself was what he thought of Adam. He’d been avoiding the question every time it appeared. Ronan knew that his interest in the fine and elegant lines of Adam’s face went deeper than a casual friendship.

Ronan wanted to pretend he didn’t know how he felt, but he was not a liar, even to himself. _I like him._

He struck the bag harder. Yes. To put it in childish terms, it was not just that he thought Adam handsome; he _like_ liked Adam.

And he had asked him out.

And, not only that, but Adam had said yes.

He knew that Adam probably didn’t see it as a date, though.

 _The problem_ , he thought, _with being gay is that you can’t help but to fall for people who can never like you back_.

At this point, he wasn’t even sure Adam considered him a friend.

_Obviously he considers you close enough to agree to go with you, though._

What was he going to do? What was he going to say?

_Adam deserves more than some guy pining after him. He'd probably be creeped out if he knew._

Ronan's fists kept biting into the bag.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he finally had to stop. As he began unwrapping his hands, he let one final thought sweep across his mind.

_I hope Adam will enjoy himself tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ronan is a awkward dweeb who can't handle his own emotions, especially around cute boys.
> 
> Also, I might not be posting quite as frequently in the next couple of weeks, since I'm graduating high school on June 4. I have a lot of stuff to do in the next several weeks, and a lot of stuff to write (including my valedictorian speech and letters to my friends). Sorry about this. I have a couple of chapters written in advance, but they are certainly not anywhere close to being complete enough to post yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

When Ronan had told Adam he was going to take him somewhere after their evening practice session that Friday, Adam hadn’t been so sure that that was good thing.

Ronan didn’t seem to be the kind of person to play some sort of elaborate joke on Adam, but Adam still had absolutely no idea where Ronan was taking them. All attempts at questions had been halted by turning the music, a ghastly variety of EDM, louder and louder each time. Ronan’s smile was electric as he drove them farther and farther outside the city limits of Henrietta.

_Please let this night end with me not dead in a ditch._

__

About an hour or so later, Ronan pulled the car to a stop in front of a rather crowded building that read O’Connell Brew Pub. The people walking into the pub had the well-cared-for look about them that Adam knew came from having a fairly decent degree of wealth. _So this is a nice place then._

Ronan gestured for Adam to get out of the car as he grabbed Chainsaw from the back seat.

“Come on, Parrish. Pat is expecting us.”

Adam followed behind Ronan uncertainly as he strode up to the door and tore it open. The buzz of many conversations swirled around Adam. Standing at the host stand was an enormous man with a large black beard.

Upon seeing Ronan enter the pub, the man boomed, “Ronan, my boy! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Ronan, Adam was shocked to see, had a massive grin on his face. His smile was larger than Adam had thought him capable of at this point.

“Pat!” Ronan yelled out, as he allowed himself to be drawn into a massive bear hug.

The massive man released Ronan, but kept his hand on Ronan’s shoulder.

“Who’s your friend, Ronan?”

“That’s Adam.”

The man, Pat, thankfully didn’t try to hug Adam too. Instead, he held out a hand for Adam so shake.

As Adam went to shake his hand, the man said, “Nice to meet you, Adam! Good to see Ronan here with such good, respectable-looking friends. His old man, that Niall, was a rascal. One of my best mates though.”

Pat’s laughter loudly cut through the already loud restaurant. Ronan was still smiling, even though his expression was a little bit tighter at the eyes.

“I got a table set up for you and your friend, Ronan. Meals are on the house. It’s not everyday Ronan Lynch comes back to visit old Pat O’Connell.”

He led them over to a table near a raised stage. Shortly after, two enormous plates of fish and chips arrived at the table for them. Pat dropped a glass of the pub’s homebrewed beer at the table for Ronan with a conspiratory wink.

Adam tried to protest the free meal to Ronan, he really didn’t need the charity, but Ronan cut him off with an incredulous expression.

“You’re going to turn down free food?” Taking a swig of his beer he continued, “Besides, I’m going to be playing later tonight, so it’s not really free anyway.”

At that, Adam hesitantly ate a bit of the fish. _My god, this is fantastic._ Adam couldn’t help but to tear into the food ravenously. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. _I haven’t, really. Not like I need to at least._

When Adam’s plate was cleared, he felt ready to sleep for a year. His eyes began drooping as the gentle buzz of the room around him lulled him into a daze.

Ronan shook his arm, breaking Adam’s doze.

“Adam. Wake up. Mark and his guys are here now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ronan grinned a sharp smile. He was more excited than Adam had ever seen him.

“It means that now it’s time for you to hear _my_ music.”

 

* * *

 

Irish music had two distinct flavors: heartbreaking sadness and riotous joy. Ronan knew that Adam had so far only been acquainted with the sad variety in the time since they’d known each other.

But here? Here Ronan was going to show Adam his favorite kind of music.

Stepping up on to the slightly raised stage with the rest of Mark’s band, Ronan crouched to set his case on the floor.

“Hey! That’s never Ronan Lynch!” Mark called from where he was pulling his guitar from his case.

Opening his case up, Ronan withdrew Chainsaw and a bow, then stood up.

Flinging his arms wide open, with Chainsaw clasped in one hand and his bow in the other he said, “In the flesh.”

Sean, Connor, Dave, and Mark all came over to pat him on the shoulders or rub his shaved head with exclamations of “Now where’s your hair gone, Ronan?”

This might have continued for some time, except Pat called out from where he was standing amongst the tables, “I’m not paying you fellows to sit and socialize like a bunch of girls!”

Still smiling and fond, everyone took their places on the stage.

Sean began to beat out the familiar rhythm on his bodhrán. Mark soon joined in with his guitar. Ronan remembered this song very well.

Connor began piping the melody. Ronan felt himself begin to grin.

Ronan let himself feel the music for just a little while, and, nodding slightly along to the music, he began to play.

The music fluttered from his fingers like a familiar friend. The corners of Adam’s mouth turned up slightly at the joyful tunes.

The notes jumped and danced. Ronan remembered long evenings of his childhood spent here on this very stage. He had done a lot of growing up here.

Song after song, Ronan played. Sometimes he played the main melody, sometimes he played the harmony to give Connor or Mark the main tune. Between songs, he couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer joy he felt. Faster and faster the melodies started to swirl around him.

Pausing to drink from a bottle of water, he looked out into the restaurant. Adam was looking very content. It looked like Pat had brought him some sort of cake. _He looks beautiful._

_Wait._

_No._

_You’re not allowed to think that about Adam._

Shaking himself mentally, Ronan threw himself wholeheartedly into his playing once more.

But before he was aware of it, Mark and his band were packing up. It was time for them to go home.

Adam was dozing at the table once more. Shaking his shoulder gently, Ronan said, “Parrish. get up. We’re leaving.”

Groggily, Adam nodded, and stood up. Too fast, apparently because he fell into Ronan.

Ronan could feel his heart thudding heavily, and could only pray that Adam couldn’t feel it too. “Watch where you’re going, Parrish.”

Nodding again, this time with a slight flush on his cheeks, Adam righted himself.

They walked to the car in silence. Ronan knew he was good to drive despite the one beer he had had earlier in the evening, so he unlocked car and climbed into the driver’s seat, stowing Chainsaw in the backseat behind him. Adam settled in the passenger seat, his knees drawn to his chest.

The car ride back to Henrietta was quiet. Peaceful. Ronan felt more at home in his own skin than he had in god knows how long.

He glanced over. Adam was completely asleep, his head lolling slightly with every bump in the road. Ronan eased off the gas a little bit, so that he was actually approaching the legal speed limit for once.

He glanced around, and, seeing no other cars, began to weave along the road to avoid the worse of the potholes. _That’s better._

Finally, St. Agnes Catholic Church was just ahead. Ronan avoided looking at Adam until he parked the car right in front of the building that held Adam’s apartment.

Steeling himself, he turned to wake Adam.

 _He must have shifted_ , Ronan thought frantically. Adam’s face was so close to his own that he could have kissed him if Ronan tilted his head just a little.

In what he considered to be the greatest effort of self control he’d ever managed in his entire life, Ronan nudged Adam’s arm with his elbow. He schooled his face into a neutral expression.

“Parrish, wake up. We’re at your shitty apartment.”

Adam jolted awake.

Looking at Ronan, his eyes as captivating as a fire on a cold winter night, Adam said softly, “Tonight was really great, Ronan.”

Resisting the urge to pull away from their nearness, Ronan replied, his voice also low, “You’d better have. Irish music is the best.”

It may have been Ronan’s imagination, but Adam’s eyes seemed to flick downwards for a split second. _Do NOT lean forward, Ronan._

As Ronan took a deep breath to steady himself from the unsettling presence of Adam Parrish, Adam abruptly pulled back and unbuckled his seatbelt.

“G’night, Lynch. See you Monday.”

Adam has already slammed the door shut and gone into his apartment before Ronan had the thought to say, “Good night, Parrish.”

“Adam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited date chapter! I hope it didn't disappoint.  
> (To get an idea of the music listen to http://8tracks.com/neurogenesis/f-i-d-d-l-e-s-t-i-c-k-s )
> 
> Also, there's a reference to a twenty one pilots song, Tear in My Heart, because that song is freaking adorable.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey.
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

Adam wasn’t entirely sure what had happened Friday night, if he was being perfectly honest with himself.

If it had been any other person besides Ronan Lynch, he’d have been _certain_ it was a date. But Ronan didn’t seem the type to date, let alone date boys.

That was maybe new, too: the fact that he maybe wanted it to be a date with Ronan.

He knew there was an entire world of sexualities. Blue, during a questioning phase of her own, had done extensive research into all the things a person could be. And while Blue had decided her disinterest in dating other people was, in fact, a part of her identity, Adam had realized that his interest in other guys was not, perhaps, as platonic as he had thought for years.

Ronan, with his sharp face, sharp smile, sharp everything, had cut into Adam, it seemed. He found Ronan attractive in a way that was physically painful to him.

And he was sure Ronan saw him as nothing but a convenient way to graduate.

 

When Monday rolled around, Adam was glad that he hadn’t been forced to see Ronan over the weekend. He had made use of the time by himself to push down any bits of whatever the fuck he was feeling about Ronan.

He had also managed to make up the work hours he had lost over the past week to the extra rehearsals. He’d lost a bit of sleep to do it, but he now knew he’d have enough money to make it until his next paycheck.

Really, it was for the better that Ronan was straight. He didn’t have time to handle any sort of significant other, let alone a boyfriend. This town was not kind to those who did not fit the norm. Adam’s dreams of Juilliard already have him in a questionable position. _It’s better this way._

That’s what he kept telling himself.

_It’s better this way._

He nearly had himself convinced, too. But Ronan ruined it all by walking into third period wearing a very flattering, tightly fitted shirt.

Adam took a moment to try and shove the feelings that momentarily caused his heart to swell in his chest into a little mental box neatly labeled 'Ronan Lynch'. It worked. _For now._

"We've done a lot of your solo work done, but we still need to start integrating you into the orchestra. What have you got sixth period? That's when I practice with the orchestra."

Ronan shrugged. “I’ve got English. I’m more than willing to skip though.”

“I’ll talk to Brown about it. She’s usually pretty chill about her class. Just make sure you turn your shit in, and I bet she’ll be okay with you coming to rehearse with me.”

“Okay, cool.”

And that was that. Ronan took out his instrument and started playing. They didn’t talk about Friday at all. _If Ronan isn’t going to bring it up, then I won’t either._

And that was that.

They painstakingly avoided talking about it for the rest of their practice session.

They painstakingly avoided talking about it at lunch, where since the previous week, Gansey and Ronan had been sitting at his table everyday.

They painstakingly avoided talking about it during sixth period and after school.

Adam walked to his car, feeling vaguely unsettled. He felt the unsaid words heavy in the air between them.

“Good night, Lynch.”

“Night, Parrish.”

 

* * *

 

He thought Adam had enjoyed himself Friday night.

He also knew Adam hadn’t seen it as a date. _Or had he?_

It might have been Ronan’s wishful thinking and overactive imagination speaking, but he thought he might have caught Adam...checking him out?

At any other time, with any other guy, he wouldn’t have assumed anything of it. Being the friend of a dedicated people-watcher like Gansey had given him an acceptance of the fact that sometimes looking at people was nothing more than looking at people.

Adam didn’t seem to be idly watching him, though; he had **intent**. His blue eyes didn’t just glance lightly over Ronan.

No.

He watched like he wanted to see what lurked beneath the surface of Ronan’s skin.

That’s not quite right either.

He watched Ronan like he wanted to know the substance of Ronan: what kept him together, what pulled him apart.

And it made Ronan nervous as FUCK.

Because Adam didn’t even seem to know he was doing it. Adam was good at watching people mostly unnoticed. But Ronan practically _felt_ the weight of Adam’s eyes.

Yesterday, a Monday, had been bad enough. But today was somehow even worse.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Ronan was expecting it.

Objectively, Ronan knew he probably wasn't all that bad looking. He might have even been pretty good looking to some.

But it was a whole other thing to know someone else found you at the very least interesting.

 _What to do? What to_ do _?_

He could talk to Adam about it.

 _Ha. Like_ that _would work._

He could not do anything at all.

_Maybe better, but still not good._

He could continue what he has been doing and let Adam make the first move.

_Yes. That's it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm officially a high school graduate. In other related news, I have also just pulled my first all-nighter.
> 
> Just a heads up for everyone so that things aren't confusing: I headcanon Blue as grey-romantic ace, and Gansey as biromatic ace. I just remembered that I talk about Blue's disinterest in dating and doing people in this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

It was Wednesday night.

Adam and Ronan had been rehearsing for a good hour or two after school before they finally took a break.

They had been chatting idly about nothing in particular for a little while, when Adam found his eyes caught on the edges of Ronan’s tattoo as it peeked out of the tank top Ronan was wearing. More of it was visible today than Adam had ever seen before. His curiosity chafed at him.

Ronan must have caught his inquisitive stare, because he asked, in the brash way Adam had come to associate with Ronan, “What the fuck are you staring at, Parrish?”

Adam felt the skin of his neck get a little warm, as he avoided Ronan’s eyes by looking at the mirror just over Ronan’s shoulder. “I was wondering what your tattoo was.”

Ronan paused slightly at this and asked, blank faced and with a carefully neutral voice, “Would you like to see it?”

Adam nodded hesitantly. Ronan laid down Chainsaw on top of her case and then turned so his back was facing Adam. He was glad Ronan couldn’t see his face as Ronan pulled the shirt over his head, because Adam was sure he looked something like a sunburnt tomato.

Before Adam could get too self conscious, though, his eyes were trapped by the swirling lines and sharp points of Ronan’s tattoo. It was...indescribable really. Ronan’s tattoo looked like some music felt. It was dangerous, and it was protective. It encompassed love and hate.

The lines bent themselves gently to follow the smooth curves of Ronan’s back. His shoulder blades were sharp, and the lines that defined them were even sharper. Ronan’s back was a knife. It was a rose. It was soft under Adam’s fingertips.

Wait.

_When did I start doing **that**?_

Ronan stood prenaturally still with Adam’s hand remaining where it was rested lightly on his back. He hardly seemed to be breathing.

Panicked, Adam glanced up from where he found himself tracing the lines of Ronan’s tattoo. He accidentally met Ronan’s eyes in the mirror before he could remove his hands from Ronan’s back.

Ronan’s eyes were wild and intense. Ronan looked like he wanted to swallow Adam whole with his stare. _His eyes are hungry_. Adam’s skin prickled and felt tight.

Adam gulped, audibly, and quickly jerked his hands away from Ronan. His entire head felt like it was on fire, he was blushing so hard.

Trying to break the tension he had inadvertently caused, Adam stuttered out, “We s-s-should probably look at measures 130 through 140, because you rush through those a lot.”

Ronan, eyes still very intense, nodded as he put his shirt back on. Perching Chainsaw back on his shoulder, he started to play again.

Adam closed his eyes and let his heartbeat slow down as he listened to Ronan’s playing.

_What is happening to me?_

 

* * *

 

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

_What was I thinking?_

Ronan rubbed his hands over his head. If he had hair, he would probably be pulling it out right about now.

So much for letting Adam make the first moves. No. He just _had_   to go and take off his clothes in front of Adam.

And he’d liked it. A lot.

The gentle touches of Adam’s beautiful hands had left scorching trails on Ronan’s back that he still imagined he could feel. It burned him.

_I’ve never felt so alive._

He kicked a pile of random junk. “FUCK!”

At this, Gansey poked his head into Ronan’s room. “Was that really necessary?”

Unable to stop the words, Ronan said, “I can’t help it, Gansey. I just like the word ‘fuck’.”

Gansey’s face assumed the pained expression that it generally took around Ronan. Glancing at the miscellaneous items now strewn across the floor, he asked, “What’s even going on?”

Ronan just looked at Gansey. He felt his fists clench and unclench at his sides.

“Oh! So I take it an Adam thing happened today. Why is that a problem?”

Ronan just started making inarticulate noises of anger and frustration with the occasional swear thrown in for emphasis. He flopped face down on the bed. He didn’t decrease the volume of his muttering at all, but to Gansey’s ears was probably considerably more muffled.

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

Ronan flipped him off without even looking at him.

“You’re making this so much harder than it has to be. If you like him, and he likes you, then go talk to him about it.”

Ronan picked up his head up as Gansey continued, “The two of you have been walking in circles around each other all week. It’d be funny, if it weren’t so annoying.”

 _Adam...liked him?_ “Wait, what do you mean ‘he likes you’?”

Gansey rolled his eyes. “I may be asexual, Ronan, but I’m not stupid.”

The look on his face left the ‘unlike you’ implied.

Ronan grimaced. “Even if he did like me before this, he doesn’t now.”

At Gansey’s inquisitive look, he was forced to explain. “After school, he asked what my tattoo was of, and I decided that stripping down in front of him was the best option.”

Ronan hear his voice turning plaintive, as Gansey made a vaguely sympathetic noise. “I ruined any chance I may have had with him today.”

It was only when Gansey snorted that Ronan realized that he was not being sympathetic: he was laughing at Ronan.

“Don’t laugh at me, asshat. I have no idea what to do.”

Still helpless with fits of giggles, Gansey managed to work out a few words. “I don’t think your chance are ruined.”

Finally gaining some semblance of composure over himself while Ronan glared at him, Gansey continued, “In fact, I would say your chances are better now than they were before.”

“So what should I do about it, oh wise asexual relationship master?”

Gansey quirked up the side of his mouth. “I might have something that will work.”

Grabbing a blank sheet of paper from the top of Ronan’s desk and a pen, he turned to Ronan.

“So here’s what you’re going to do…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes blatantly steal lines from real life. And when someone went on and on about their love of the word "fuck", I knew Ronan needed to say it, too.
> 
> I have a youtube playlist here (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) with most of the music that's been talked about so far, music that's in the right feel, or music that is used in later chapters. Swan Lake and later is used in chapters 13 and 14.
> 
> Also, a note: I'm going to be out of the country for nine days starting this Sunday. No worries though, because I have the next couple chapters written out ahead, so I can post them when I get back. I think they're pretty good, but this whole fic is literally all the tropes and themes I love, so I'm probably not the best judge.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

Ronan did not seem to be the type that fit well in a box.

No matter how hard Adam tried to push down the feelings ( _call it what it is_ ), the crush, he had whenever for Ronan, he simply couldn’t.

That Thursday was the single most awkward day of his entire life. Forget whatever awkwardness he thought he felt earlier in the week. He singlehandedly managed to royally fuck up what ever friendship he and Ronan had had before this in one fell swoop.

 _By fondling him._ Jesus fuck. He almost never wanted to speak to himself ever again.

He couldn’t even meet Ronan’s eyes as he mumbled musical directions.

Ronan at least seemed to be judiciously ignoring the awkwardness between them. For once, he was really glad Ronan was not the type to talk about his feelings.

There was too much work still to be done to be ready for the concert in a little bit more than a week. Far too much to be involved with his violin soloist.

It was too close for comfort, and he should have kept his hands to himself. _He should have kept his hands to himself._

Great. Now his brain was stuck on his mistake.

Adam took a deep breath ( _a little shaky_ ), rubbed his hands on his face, and did what Adam Parrish did best. He threw a mental sheet over the problem to ignore until he had the time to fully deal with the problem.

_Maybe it won’t seem as bad in a week and a half._

He almost laughed at the improbability of that, even as he thought it.

 

Adam really didn’t know how he managed to make it to sixth period. Lunch had been an excruciating experience. He had gotten the feeling that Gansey knew what had happened, because he kept glancing in Adam’s direction and then turning to smirk at Ronan.

As the first chair cellist, Cynthia, stopped him for the third time in twenty minutes, it became appallingly apparent that he was not ‘making it through’ so much as ‘blundering around blindly and praying nothing else happened’. Suffice to say, he was not exactly in the right state of mind to conduct this orchestra with the fluidity and focus necessary to do so properly.

“Alright, everyone. Let’s go ahead and pack up early today. I am seriously out of it today.”

At that, the forty three people in front of him began the shuffling and busy process that was packing up your instrument.

Cynthia came up to him, her cloud of natural, curly hair bouncing with each step she took. She still had her cello and bow. Adam distantly noted that she was wearing a bright purple nail polish that contrasted prettily with her dark brown skin.

“Okay, so what’s up with you today? Even when you’re puke-your-guts-out sick, you don’t let it affect your music.”

Adam sighed and looked down at his conductor’s score. “I don’t even know. Your guess will be as good as mine.”

She had a speculative look on her face. “Has it got anything to do with your violin soloist?”

Turning to look sharply at her, he asked, more harshly than he meant to, “What do you know about that?”

Looking extremely unimpressed, she responded, a bit of a bite in her own voice. “I have eyes, Adam. The two of you are not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

As Adam goggled at her, she continued. “I have to say though, this one seems like less of a prick than Andrew. That boy was easy on the eyes for sure, but man, he sure ruined it whenever he opened that mouth.”

Her eyes sparkled with mirth as she suddenly smirked wickedly. “That Ronan of yours, though. He’s five times the violinist and twice as handsome to boot. If he wasn’t gay as fuck, I’d climb him like a tree.”

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand. I’ve messed things up irreparably with him.”

She laughed a little. “Doubt it.”

Before Adam could do more than make vague sounds of distress, she punched him lightly in the arm and began to walk away. “Go get him, tiger!”

Adam opened his mouth to respond, then closed it just as quickly. _There’s really nothing to say to that._

_I’m not even entirely sure what she meant, anyway. (That was a lie.)_

Packing up his stuff, he thought to himself, _Only one more day until the weekend._

He swung his bag over his shoulder, and walked out the door.

 

* * *

 

Ronan felt his stomach twist with nerves. _What if Adam doesn’t like it? Doesn’t like me?_

Gansey’s grand master plan had been for Ronan to play for Adam a piece of music. And not just any music: the single most beautiful love song Ronan had ever heard. Gansey’s varied knowledge of obscure music proved to be very valuable in this particular instance.

And so now Ronan spent every moment he was not practicing Adam’s music practicing this song for Adam. And it was difficult.

The song itself was not any more technically difficult than anything he had been playing. In fact, it might have even been easier than the crazy note patterns Adam’s music had been forcing him to play the past couple weeks.

No. This song was difficult because it was soft and beautiful and everything he wanted to give to Adam.

This song would force him to bare his heart, and he was scared out of his fucking mind at the prospect.

Music had always been the way he was able to give voice to the softer parts of his thoughts. He needed that now more than ever.

Adam always seemed to assume that the worse possible situation would be the one that happened, and Ronan wanted to be the one to try and prove that wrong. Adam deserved all the lovely and bright things, even if he didn’t believe he did.

So the plan was this: drive Adam out to the Barns, feed him, and play for him a song that can show him what Ronan cannot find the words for.

All Ronan had to do was come up with a believable reason to drive out to the Barns with Adam on Saturday.

Which is why, on this Friday evening, he was going back to his home. This trip would serve two distinct purposes: making sure that there was actually food at the Barns and allowing Ronan to conveniently “forget” Chainsaw in the living room.

Ronan was absolutely not a gourmet chef, so he had with him a package of fettuccine pasta and the ingredients for an alfredo sauce. Middle school cooking lessons from his mom had seemed stupid at the time, but now he was thanking every power he knew of that he at least had the skills to make _something_.

He placed all the stuff for the sauce in the fridge, and the pasta on the counter.

Chainsaw he placed on the couch in the living room.

Sighing, he turned off the light, and started the long drive back to Henrietta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back in the country now! Costa Rica was beautiful, but I am so glad to be back home.
> 
> In case anyone was wondering, this (http://www.paxplena.com/2007/04/song-of-week-estrellita.html) is the song with its lyrics.
> 
> I should be back to posting regularly for the rest of the story, barring any unforeseen circumstances.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

The first thing Ronan said when he showed up to St. Agnes early Saturday afternoon was: “I forgot Chainsaw at the Barns. We’ll have to go get her before we can do anything.”

Adam was perhaps a bit relieved that he wouldn’t have to risk being entirely alone with Ronan, but he knew what he was supposed to say in this situation. “Go ahead and go get her then. Although, it might be late by the time you get back. Did you want to cancel today’s practice?”

Before he had even finished speaking, Ronan was shaking his head, blue eyes especially vibrant. “Nah, you can come with me. We can just play at the Barns. Saving time, and all.”

Adam felt his heart jump a little at the thought of him and Ronan alone. But then he chastised himself. He and Ronan were friends. That’s it.

Ronan strode out to his car. “Adam? You coming or not?”

Adam started a little, then walked over and got in the passenger side of Ronan’s grey BMW. Ronan tossed over his phone as soon as Adam had buckled his seatbelt.

“Pick some music for us. The aux cord is right there.”

Adam scrolled through Ronan’s phone, half expecting to find nothing but the terrible EDM that he had been subjected to last time. Instead, he found a wealth of classical and Irish music. He finally selected a Tchaikovsky album, and let the sounds of the Swan Lake Ballet Suite fill the car.

Ronan glanced over, one eyebrow raised. “Swan Lake? That’s a little grim, don’t you think?”

Adam shrugged. “The story is grim, but the music is marvellous. Tchaikovsky is a great composer. Probably one of the best.”

Ronan’s expression of disbelief grew even more pronounced. “Like fuck is Tchaikovsky the best. He himself idolized Mozart. Pull up any one of Chopin’s Nocturnes and tell me that the fucking Swan Lake Ballet Suite is better. I fucking dare you.”

And just like that, things were back to normal. Ronan was being abrasive and arguing about music, and Adam had to tell him why he was wrong.

“Chopin’s Nocturnes? Who’s grim now?”

 

Their argument continued until Ronan put the car in park in front of a house Adam assumed was Ronan’s. _So this is the Barns._

He and Ronan walked side by side up to the building, until Ronan had to step forward to unlock the front door.

Ronan immediately went in and toed his shoes off right next to the door. Adam followed his lead, and left his shoes sitting by the front door.

Glancing around, he was simultaneously completely shocked and totally unsurprised that Ronan came from a place like this. The house seemed to be lit with golden light all over, so that even the few shadows were still beautiful.

Ronan tried to pretend that he was entirely made of shadows. Admittedly, Ronan had more shadows than this place that birthed him, but that didn’t mean his shadows were any less beautiful, or that he was entirely devoid of this light. Ronan was a version of this place with the edges sharpened: a ceremonial sword that had been honed for use.

“You want to go over the music?”

Adam realized that he must have zoned out. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

Ronan let them to the living room, where his violin was sitting in the middle of the couch. Grabbing the case from the couch, he set it on a nearby table as he said, “Feel free to sit anywhere. I’m going to stand.”

Adam took the spot on the couch that Chainsaw had recently been occupying, and pulled out his score. “You’re pretty good on most of it so far. There’s only a few sections with some of the runs at I wanted to go over today.”

The whole ordeal was rather light hearted. Ronan was making good natured jokes (for Ronan, at least), and Adam was giving as good as he got. This was the least antagonistic practice session they’d ever had together.

They practiced well into the early evening. About seven o’clock, Adam heard his stomach make a rather disagreeable growling sound.

As he was about to apologize, Ronan’s head whipped up, and he proceeded to do the least expected thing someone like Ronan Lynch could do.

“If you’re hungry, I could make us something to eat.”

Before Adam could tell him no, that he was just fine, he didn’t need to eat things, Ronan had already packed up Chainsaw and walked through a doorway that Adam assumed led to a kitchen.

Adam hesitantly followed. Ronan was banging about in the kitchen filling a pot with water. He threw some salt in the water, set it to boil, and then began to tell Adam stories. He got so involved in telling one about the first time his younger brother Matthew had said a bad word in front of their mother that he didn’t notice the pot boiling over. Once Ronan heard the pot make angry hissing noises, he swore violently, and went to correct whatever had gone wrong. It was all Adam could do not to laugh at him.

When Ronan added the pasta and set out another pan, presumably for the sauce, the kitchen was filled with an amicable silence.

Adam settled down on a nearby stool to watch Ronan cook. Ronan’s kitchen near-disaster reminded him of a time where his mother had accidentally caught a dishtowel on fire.

“Don’t feel bad about the pot boiling over, Ronan. I remember this one time…”

 

* * *

 

This whole thing this was disgustingly domestic. Ronan loved it.

He and Adam were in the kitchen, laughing and reminiscing about their childhoods. He was making Adam the one home-cooked meal that he was capable of.

Adam was flushed with his laughter, and Ronan was devastated. _I’m a goner._

He avoided looking at Adam too much, because he knew that he’d let the food burn if he let himself look at Adam for more than a few seconds at a time.

Once the pasta and its sauce were ready though, he had no problems with letting himself look, really look, at Adam.

Bringing a large plate of pasta for each of them over to the kitchen table, he told Adam, “Feel free to get more if you want. I accidentally misjudged the amount of pasta necessary, so there is a fuckton still left.”

And Adam took him up on that. Adam went and got seconds, and then thirds. Ronan felt strangely proud that he was able to give Adam something he so desperately needed.

He and Adam just kept talking, and Ronan had to resist the urge to grab Adam’s left hand with his right. Instead, he just left his hand sitting next to Adam’s on the table as he continued eating.

It could have been twenty minutes later or hours later when they were finally finished eating. Ronan took their plates and went over to the sink to wash the dishes from dinner.

Adam came up next to him with a towel and a small smile.

Ronan had to resist the urge to prolong this moment. He wanted to live in this peaceful intimacy for his entire life.

Steeling himself as handed the last dish to Adam, he said, “I have something I’ve been working on that I want to show you.”

Adam nodded, looking mildly confused and, unless Ronan was seeing things, more than a little excited.

He started walking back into the living room. _It’s now or never._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I've said before: sometimes I take things from real life. This time, it is the experience of having my own mom catch a dishtowel on fire. And also my snobbish tendencies towards classical music. I'm only sad that I don't have friends to argue classical music with.
> 
> Adam needs food and love and Ronan wants to give him both.
> 
> This whole thing was so cute to write, and it only gets cuter. (mostly)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Play this song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pp-Gl-70dSo) while reading. It is the song Ronan is playing for Adam.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

Adam let Ronan lead him back into the living room. His hand was lightly wrapped around Adam’s wrist. He hoped Ronan couldn’t feel the way that made his heart thunder.

Ronan sat Adam on a plush stool, shaped vaguely like a burgundy mushroom. His hands were warm where they pressed into Adam’s shoulders. The heat from Ronan’s torso burned along his back.

“Close your eyes, Adam.” Ronan’s lips brushed up against Adam’s right ear as he whispered. Adam felt a thrill run down his spine as he let his eyelids fall.

Abruptly, Ronan jerked away, as though he were the one burning. Adam could help but shiver at the sudden chill he felt. The space in the room felt as though it had grown infinitely large in the instants that Ronan had moved away from Adam.

Adam heard Ronan cross the room to retrieve Chainsaw from the table. He felt, more than heard, Ronan settle onto the stool on his right side. The bow fell on the strings; drawing tiny bits of sound from each of the strings it had landed on. Adam could almost picture the look on Ronan’s face as he prepared to play.

As Ronan drew his bow across the strings, the notes he pulled from the air shone and danced like bubbles on a sunny afternoon; they swayed like tree branches covered in lush green leaves moved by lazy summer winds. The notes crackled like logs in a fireplace in the dead of winter; they caressed like the hands of a lover.

_A lover._

Adam suddenly knew the music for what it was: a confession.

Opening his eyes slowly, Adam saw Ronan staring at him, more vulnerable than he had ever been before. As Adam met his gaze, Ronan averted his gaze so that he was avidly staring at his fingers as they moved along the neck of the violin.

The music grew even more hesitant, as it bared Ronan’s heart ever further.

As Adam watched, a flush spread across Ronan’s cheekbones.

Hardly giving himself the chance to consider what he was doing before he had done it, Adam reached over and covered Ronan’s long, slim fingers with his own. _How crude I am in comparison to him._

Ronan stopped playing instantly. Adam kept his hand on Ronan’s as Ronan rested Chainsaw on his knee.

There seemed to be no air in the room, not with the weight of whatever hung between them. The silence pressed in, and so Adam knew he had to say something.

“I know. I mean. I knew. Before this.”

Ronan looked slapped at Adam’s words. And then his face twisted, and he spat, “I’m sure you enjoyed letting me pine after you, then. How pathetic I must have been to you. Aglionby’s resident gay finds Adam Parrish attractive. Ha. Ha. Fucking. Ha.”

He made as if to stand up and walk away.

Adam grabbed Ronan’s other hand around the wrist.

“Ronan, it’s not like that at all.”

Adam glanced at Ronan’s lips, and then back at his eyes. The piercing blue of Ronan’s eyes was dark, dark, so dark.

“What’s it like then, Adam?”

Leaning forward Adam, pressed his lips against Ronan’s tentatively.

Pulling away, he responded, more breathily than he wanted, “Like that.”

Ronan gingerly removed his hands from where Adam held them, and walked over to the table, his head bowed over his violin, as if in prayer. Adam watched him go, struck still with crippling doubt and fear.

As Adam continued watching, Ronan loosened his bow and placed Chainsaw back into her case. Adam’s lips still tingled from where they had so briefly touched Ronan’s.

Before Adam could consider the depth of his mistake too much, Ronan rushed back over to where Adam was still sitting. He held out a hand as if to help Adam stand up.

Adam took his hand, and suddenly found himself pressed close to the hard planes of Ronan’s chest.

He felt Ronan’s hand brush against the side of his face. Ronan’s nose brushed against his nose as their lips met once again. Adam inhaled sharply as his eyelids fluttered closed of their own accord. His hands made their way up Ronan’s chest, feathered along Ronan’s neck.  Ronan tilted his head, and Adam’s mouth instantly opened. Their lips seemed drawn together like magnets.

Adam felt himself falling further and further into Ronan, but he couldn’t find it in himself to stop kissing him long enough to care.

They could have been kissing for a second or for a lifetime when they pulled away for breath. Adam rested his forehead against Ronan’s and laughed lightly, breathily.

Ronan’s answering smile was small, but his eyes shone with pure, unadulterated joy.

 

* * *

 

The light filtered through the curtains, watery and golden with the early hours. Ronan was very warm. Too warm.

Startled fully awake by the heat that seemed to be surrounding him, he glanced down. _Oh._

Around his waist was a tanned arm. Now that Ronan thought about it, he could feel a light and even breath on the back of his neck. Adam’s chest burned against his back, despite the two layers of fabric between them.

They had slept together last night, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. Ronan couldn’t believe that. A few days ago, the likelihood of Adam and him being, well, _Adam and him_ , seemed impossible. Now, it seemed inevitable.

“We need to take this slow,” Adam had urged last night, when Ronan had run his hands just beneath the hem of Adam’s worn grey shirt. Ronan agreed. Adam deserved to be loved fully, completely, and without haste. And Ronan intended to take the time to love this boy properly.

Right now, whatever was between them was as fragile as a delicate baby bird; Ronan did not want to be the one to break it over something as frivolous as sex.

Adam started shifting behind him, pulling Ronan closer to his chest. His lips brushed lightly against the nape of Ronan’s neck. Ronan couldn’t help how he melted into the touch.

“G’morning.” Adam’s voice was rough with sleep and rich with his Henrietta accent.

Still trying to keep himself in Adam’s arms, Ronan squirmed around awkwardly until he was facing Adam. His own body shook gently with Adam’s resultant laughter.

“Morning, Adam.”

Adam was still giggling. Ronan felt his cheeks get hot, and cursed his pale Celtic skin.

It was then that Adam leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Ronan’s cheek. “You’re so adorable.”

Leaning his forehead against Adam’s, Ronan gazed at Adam’s half-lidded blue eyes. “Excuse you. I’m not adorable, I’m fucking sexy.”

Adam made a vague noise of assent and leaned forward to kiss Ronan’s lips.

 

The golden morning turned into a golden midday turned into a golden afternoon.

As much as Ronan wished he could stay in the Barns with Adam for the rest of his life, he knew that it was impossible.

Still, with each beautiful, wonderful kiss, Ronan couldn’t help but picture the rest of forever. _With Adam._

Finally, by the time afternoon was making the shift to evening, they had to go back to back to real life.

The drive back was filled with hands holding hands, with loving looks being cast sidelong, with driving below the posted speed limit.

Ronan drove Adam to his apartment, and they parted ways with one last lingering kiss.

As Adam walked from Ronan’s car to his apartment, Ronan didn’t want to drive away.

A phone call from Gansey broke the revery of the weekend. Ronan put his in car in reverse, and began the drive back to Monmouth.

Reality may have been king once more, but Ronan couldn’t help the way he smiled each time his thoughts drifted to Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam finally gets the cuddles he deserves. Ronan is 100% the little spoon. Also they are both wearing clothes during the cuddling, because going from nothing to banging is not what I am about.
> 
> Please enjoy this moment of happiness.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Homophobic language and slurs (in Ronan's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for this.  
>  
> 
> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey. (Please don't hate me too much)
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW) and is being updated as I write more each week.

Nothing was really _too_ different that Monday.

Adam looked at Ronan, because he was allowed to now, and because Ronan seemed to have grown too large in his mind to even consider ignoring any more.

He had lovely hands. It made sense, considering he played the violin, and played it well. His fingers, long, pale, and slender, reflected this as he caressed the strings of his violin.

But his hands were made even lovelier by their imperfections: the scarred and scabbed knuckles, the bitten nails, and the vague pen doodles of birds and trees that inevitably marked him at the end of each day.

Adam spent far more time than he was willing to admit tracing the lines of Ronan’s sharp and beautiful profile: the arched brows, the regal nose, the thin lips, the strong jaw. Ronan was a masterpiece of flowing lines, harsh edges, and unyielding bones and sinews.

Sometimes Ronan would catch him staring, and meet his eye with a soft and secret grin that only made Adam feel like he was falling even more.

Things were not so different besides that.

Sure, Ronan would walk with Adam to his classes now. And if their arms happened to brush against each other as they walked next to each other, that was just fine.

More than just fine, really. Because sometimes, if their hands were turned just the right way, Ronan’s fingertips would snag Adam’s.

They were probably not being too subtle with their lingering gazes, but Adam couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted over to Ronan ever chance they got.

The music prospered because of it, too. Adam figured that he and Ronan had never been so in sync, as long as they'd known each other.

There really wasn’t anything that could mess this up.

 

* * *

 

Ronan was walking on the clouds. Things with Adam were going better than he ever could have imagined.

The concert was getting closer, so he had a wonderful and perfect, ready-made excuse for spending nearly every waking moment with Adam as they both prepared more and more rigorously for the concert this weekend.

The only thing more beautiful than the music he was playing was the boy who wrote it.

On this Wednesday, they had stayed together at the school to work on the music until nearly dark. Ronan had grabbed Adam’s hand as they were leaving the building together, and Adam had let him keep it, for now.

Glancing around and seeing no one, Ronan lifted their joined hands to his mouth and kissed the back of Adam’s hand. Adam flushed, and then he too glanced around to make sure they were alone.

Since there was nobody around them, Ronan felt alright with pulling Adam close and kissing him, just because he could. Ronan wanted to spend the rest of his life kissing Adam Parrish, and so he thought he was truly doing an admirable job so far resisting the urge to do so.

And when Adam lightly placed his hands on Ronan’s waist, he felt completely justified in his reaction of gently pulling Adam’s face closer to his own.

 

Truly, it was a mystery how much time had passed before Ronan became aware that they were no longer alone in this courtyard.

As Ronan found the presence of mind to turn and locate the source of this new noise, a group of guffawing boys turned the corner, too quickly for Adam and Ronan to untangle themselves from where they had intertwined.

Ronan recognized one of them, an arrogant boy with an upturned nose, blonde hair, and a cast on his left arm. _It’s that kid. Andrew._

It appeared that he recognized Ronan as well. He started back at first, but quickly bounced back at the hooting and hollering of his friends surrounding him.

Andrew sneered at them. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

One of his cronies spat out an answer. “Looks like we got a pair of flaming faggots.”

Ronan felt himself tense up as he squared himself to face them. His hands formed fists at his side. He felt a muscle in his jaw twitch as he ground his teeth.

Adam stepped out from behind Ronan, presumably to get a better look at the group of boys haranguing them. His face got tighter when he saw Andrew for a just a moment, before going very blank. He folded his arms around his torso, almost as though he was hugging himself.

Andrew laughed a breathy and cruel laugh. “Is that Adam Parrish? Guess he’s even more of a filthy cocksucker than I thought.”

Raising his cast up to flip Ronan off, he continued, “I already knew you were a disgusting fag, Lynch,  because you told me so when you gave me this cast.”

His friends behind him started sniggering. Andrew twisted his features into the facsimile of a contrite expression.

“It’s okay, though. I understand everything now, Lynch. You just wanted Parrish to be only your bitch.”

Looking behind him for some kind of moral support, Andrew then took a step forward towards Ronan.

“I bet he’s a good fuck if you were willing to risk expulsion for a bit of ass.”

Looking Adam over from head to toe, he cleared his throat, and spit at Adam. “Disgusting.”

As Andrew spit, Ronan lunged forward, only to be stopped by a hand wrapped around his wrist. He followed the tanned hand holding on to him up to Adam’s face.

“You can’t be in any more fights”, he said softly, hollowly. Adam gently shook his head at Ronan, and started to walk away. His hand slipped from where he had held Ronan.

Ronan tried, and failed, to contain his fury. “Remember that you’ve still got another arm I can break.”

Andrew started laughing at that, but he stopped in a hurry after he fell backwards when Ronan feinted forward.

Turning, he saw Adam rushing back into the music room they had just left.

With one last dirty look towards Andrew, he ran to follow Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry. This is the main conflict in the story, and I've been setting it up since chapter 1. This and the next chapter were the most painful thing to write ever, and I am so sorry for inflicting them on you (but there are going to be something like 19 chapters total, so keep hopeful thoughts in mind as you read).
> 
> If you want to tell me how you feel, please do so, but please also don't be hateful about it.
> 
> (Also, this thing has officially reached novella length)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vivid description of a panic attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey.
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW)

Adam maybe wanted to throw up. He was shaking. His heart thundered in his chest. It was hurting to breathe. _Your father can’t reach you here._

‘Here’ was the back corner of the rehearsal room, where he was curled into a little ball underneath the piano.

Attempting to handle the panic he was feeling right now, he tried to logic his way out of the sheer, mindless terror that seemed to be wrapping around his head and chest. _Andrew doesn’t know your dad, and your dad is certainly not going to come here for anything. You are panicking for nothing._

This might have even worked, except Adam became aware of a presence in the room with him. It hovered over him, watching, judging. It was coming closer.

Adam couldn’t help the way his breathing sped up and his throat constricted.

“No!”

Even to himself, his voice sounded constricted and weak and pathetic. He sounded like the scared little child his father expected him to be. _I’msorrydadI’msorrydadI’msorrydadI’msor—_

“Adam. Adam! Are you okay? What do you need me to do?”

Ronan’s hands fluttered uselessly above Adam’s back. He kept a constant stream of low words going.

“I’m here, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Those guys are just douchebags being shitstacks. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Eventually, Adam became aware of himself again. The wave of blind terror subsided, and he was left with Ronan hovering over him.

He uncurled his screaming muscles. Ronan was still talking quietly.

“Okay. Okay. I’m better now.”

_Why did Ronan have to be here to witness this?_

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need me to do anything?”

“I’m fine, Ronan. Just leave me alone about it.” Adam knew his voice had more of a bite than the situation perhaps warranted, but he also didn’t have the energy to keep himself from snapping at Ronan.

It was only then that Adam remembered another part of the conversation that had managed to reach past the blind panic and stick with him.

“Did you say that you had broken Andrew’s arm?”

Ronan avoided Adam’s eyes a little bit. He seemed reluctant to answer.

Eventually: “Yeah. He was talking shit about how he was so hot that both guys and girls wanted him. He said he got this fag of a conductor practically begging to suck his dick.”

Ronan glanced up at Adam with a curiously vulnerable look in his eye.

“And so when I told him in no uncertain terms how much of a shitstack he was, we had a philosophical disagreement. When he found out that I myself was of the homosexual persuasion, the disagreement became decidedly more physical.”

Ronan let out a dark chuckle then. “Dumbass didn’t know the second rule of the jungle. And so, I ended up breaking his arm accidentally when he flailed around.”

Ronan grabbed his hand. “I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

Here the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. Adam suddenly knew exactly what he was going to say, and felt a rush of anger preemptively swell in his chest.

Ronan ran his along the outside of Adam’s hand. “I know what happened with your dad, and I never wanted to be another source of violence in your life.”

Adam ripped his hand away from Ronan and stood up. “How did you find out about that?”

Ronan looked up at him. “Gansey showed me an article from the paper from a few years ago. About how Robert Parrish was arrested and sentenced to ten years in prison for the aggravated assault of his seventeen year old son.”

The pity in Ronan's eyes made Adam's bile rise up. He couldn’t take this.

Adam pushed over a music stand and Ronan scrambled to his feet. The clanging of the metal resounded through the room. “Damn it, Ronan, why didn’t you just tell me! I could have handled it.”

Ronan had his arms crossed defensively. “It’s not like I’m obligated to tell you shit like that.”

Adam clenched his fists by his side. He could feel a powerful fury building in his gut. He was shaking in his rage. “I could have handled it by myself! There was no need for you to have BROKEN HIS FUCKING ARM!”

“WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO, THEN? Let him practically rape you? I wasn’t going to let that happen to anyone, even someone I didn’t even know.”

Ronan gestured sharply with his arms now.

“Maybe you don’t know me now either.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“How much do we actually know about each other? You obviously want some weak little boyfriend whose honor you can defend, and that is absolutely not me. I don’t want your pity.”

“Fuck off, Parrish. That not what’s happening and you know it.”

He thundered onwards.

“I think you’re just scared that someone might actually love you for once in your shitty life.”

All the air had left the room. Adam felt his brain detach from his body. He was almost able to watch himself as he said, with all the scorn and spite he could muster, “Go fuck yourself, Lynch.”

He slammed through the door.

“Adam! Wait!”

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.” Adam felt the words rip from his throat.

Ronan stopped suddenly in the doorframe.

Tears blurred his vision. He barely made it to his car before dissolving into great heaving sobs.

Gasping and shuddering, he screamed out in anguish.

 

* * *

 

Ronan watched as Adam disappeared into the darkness.

It felt like he ripped Ronan’s heart out, and was dragging it along the ground behind him as he left.

He thought he knew what heartbreak was.

But nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared him for this.

Ronan was incapable of doing anything more than sitting on the curb and weeping. He grabbed the sides of his head and stared at the asphalt of the school parking lot between his boots. The dark surface was blurred from his tears.

 _The worst part about all this_ , Ronan thought to himself, _was that it was my fault._

He had had plenty of therapists in the years tell him, in the years since his father’s death, that sometimes bad things happen and they’re nobody’s fault. It wasn’t his fault that his father was beaten to death with a tire iron right outside his room. It wasn’t his fault that his mother went comatose after his father’s death.

He finally believed them after all this time.

Because now he knew what it was to be at fault for destroying another person.

His words had caused the single greatest thing he’d ever been a part of to fall to shambles right in front of him.

And it was entirely his fault.

 

He was vaguely aware of his phone buzzing in his pocket at some point, but most sensation was lost to this grey cloud of despair in which he found himself ensconced.

 

Gansey rushed around the corner and heaved a massive sigh of relief at the sight of Ronan. Ronan knew he should feel about about worrying Gansey, but he could bring himself to feel much of anything right now.

Gansey heaved Ronan up, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder to make sure that Ronan was able to go with him. Gansey was talking to him, but Ronan could bear to hear him, and so he let the words form a comforting background to his own grief.

The journey from the school to Monmouth seemed to happen between blinks. He closed his eyes in the parking lot after being put into the Pig, and opened them again as Gansey tried to maneuver the two of them up the stairs and into their building.

And then there was this: the blessed respite brought by sleep. The grey faded to black, and Ronan didn’t worry about anything for just a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Conflict!
> 
> These boys have a metric fuck-ton of emotional issues that they've been kind of pushing to the side and not really addressing. You can't have a happy (and healthy) relationship without talking about things like that.
> 
> Also, the rules of the jungle, for those who didn't know.  
> 1) Don't poop where you live.  
> 2) Don't mess with something until you know if it can mess back.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW)

The weeks of panicking before this performance had certainly paid off.

Since he had been pushing everyone so hard for perfection, they had finally worked through all the major issues (and most of the minor issues) with the piece. There was not much to do before the performance the day after tomorrow except make sure that no one had forgotten anything. Adam barely had to do anything in front of the orchestra.

Which was a good thing.

He felt his entire world was wrong somehow: a wrung-out note a half step out of tune. His life was a syncopation gone wrong, with the off beats making him strident and discordant.

Adam was a string tuned too high, and he was about to break.

At this point he wasn’t sure whether to be pissed or relieved that neither Ronan nor Gansey had been at school today.

Pissed because he still wasn’t confident in Ronan’s grasp on all the sections of his music.

Relieved because he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever thing had happened last night.

He wasn’t ready to explain the Adam Parrish experience to Ronan. He wasn’t ready to have Ronan explain the Ronan Lynch experience to him.

He just wasn’t ready. Adam didn’t have the time or energy to address the emotional baggage he knew he had; that he knew Ronan had.

Adam didn’t have the comfort and safety afforded by distance away from Henrietta to trifle with such petty things as love.

_Soon, though. Soon I’ll have everything._

Maybe it was for the better that he and Ronan had realized early on that they were not right for each other. That Ronan realized he deserved better than some abused trailer trash who gets upset over a couple of words.

_It could have been something, yes. But it’s not, and we are okay with that._

_We’re okay with that._

_We’re just fine._

_(No, we’re not.)_

 

* * *

 

“Ronan, wake up.”

Gansey was using that tone of voice that Ronan couldn’t help but to obey. He opened his eyes, despite his leaden eyelids.

Gansey was sitting on the side of Ronan’s bed and looking at him in speculation.

“Something bad happened with Adam last night, and you’re going to tell me what.”

Gansey had the beginnings of a crease between his eyebrows. He was concerned, but trying not to look it.

Avoiding Gansey’s command for now, he blinked heavily, then looked around the room. There was more light than there should have been.

“What time is it?”

Gansey adjusted his glasses and glanced at that ridiculously large watch of his. “About noon. Today’s Friday, by the way.”

He hadn’t slept for more than 24 hours in months. This whole ordeal was unusual for more than one reason. “Shouldn’t we be at school, Mr. Mother?”

Gansey gave him a long look over the rims of his glasses. “Would you have wanted to go to school? No. There are some things that take precedence over my education, and one of those is the well-being of my best friend.”

There wasn’t much to say to that. Instead of letting himself respond with emotion, he did what he always did: drive people away by being rude.

He jabbed Gansey between the eyebrows with a pointed finger. “You keep looking like that, your face is going to get stuck that way.”

Gansey swatted away Ronan’s hand. “Whatever. Get up and shower, because you stink. Then, we’re going to talk about Adam. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you dodged that.”

Ronan heaved his heavy body up out of the bed. Gravity seemed to be working twice as hard on him. His bones creaked.

Gansey was still looking on, except his concern was plastered all over his face now.

Ronan walked slowly to the bathroom. Gansey hovered in the corner of his vision like a persistent ghost or a guardian angel.

“I’m fine, Gansey. I can bathe on my own.” The words escaped through gritted teeth.

In the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes from the day before, which, like Gansey had said, actually did stink. Badly.

The water temperature at Monmouth was a finicky thing. The knobs had to be turned just so to be at the proper warmth for a shower. Usually Ronan was willing to fiddle with the knobs until he reached that perfect temperature.

Not today though.

Today he welcomed the scalding water as a baptism of sorts, to burn out the devil that lurked beneath his skin. The devil that ruins all the things he loved.

_Great. Just fucking great._  Ronan was crying now.

He thought he’d hardened what was left of his heart when his dad died and Declan became his enemy.

But then Adam had to come along with his stupid beautiful face and his stupid wonderful soul and his stupid amazing music.

_God, I haven’t cried this much in a long time. And over a relationship that lasted less than a fucking week with a guy I’ve only known for a month. This is absolutely pathetic._

Eventually, when Ronan’s shower had reached the point where the water had cooled off, but his ridiculous self pity was still going strong, he decided it was time to face the music and talk to Gansey.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, focus himself on the discomfort of the fabric as it scraped across his skin, raw from the hot water.

Before he knew it, he was dry, dressed, and sitting on the foot of Gansey’s bed while Gansey sat on the floor in front of him.

“Okay, so what happened between you and Adam?”

Ronan looked at his hands. “Some guys were being rude and Adam ended up having a panic attack or something. I wanted to beat the shit out of the little assholes, but Adam was really not looking okay.”

He sighed, then looked up at Gansey. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt him. I was just trying to help.” Ronan felt his lips curl up. “But I fucked it all up anyway.”

Gansey looked sympathetic. “I’m sure you didn’t fuck it up that badly.”

Ronan buried his head in his hands. “I basically told him that no one else loved him except me, which is a fucked up thing to say and I really wish I hadn’t said it to him and now he quite justly hates me.”

Gansey gave a look. “So apologize.”

“Apologies can’t fix everything, Gansey. I think I messed this up beyond repair.”

“It doesn’t matter if it fixes it or not, you still need to apologize. Even if he still doesn’t forgive you, you need to let him know that you messed up. Until you apologize, though,” Gansey said as he stood up and dusted off his pants, “you need to keep practicing for the concert. You still have a couple of really rough sections, and, regardless if he hates you or not, you have to perform the music well.”

Gansey was right.

Even if Adam never wanted to speak to him after this whole thing was over, he owed it to Adam to give nothing less than his best on performance day.

He went to his room, grabbed Chainsaw, and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the friend that gives the tough love sometimes, so I'm sorry if Gansey is OOC in this chapter. I relate very strongly with him, and so it's maybe not always "what would Gansey do?" but "what would Alyssa do?".
> 
> There are 19 chapters total to this story, plus an epilogue, so we're nearly done.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey.
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube ([here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW))

Logically, Adam knew he had probably overreacted to Ronan's statement.

Sure, there were other factors involved, but staying angry at Ronan solved none of these.

Adam's head knew this.

Now if only the rest of him would listen.

That was the most irritating thing about emotions: the way they defied all logic.

And Adam, a person who prided himself on his ability to logic his way through his problems, was hitting a wall on this one.

He knew he shouldn’t be angry, but he just _was_.

Angry at Ronan for saying what he said. Angry at himself for how weak he had been. Angry at Ronan for being there to see his weakness. Angry at his father for being a piece of shit who beat his kid. Angry at Ronan for knowing about his father. Angry Andrew for his hateful words. Angry at Ronan for doing something about it.

 

At least he didn’t have to work today. He had gone to the auto repair shop earlier to try and pick up a few more hours, both to keep himself busy before the concert this evening and to have a bit more money in his bank account. After all, if he wasn’t supposed to meet his orchestra until noon, and he was awake at five in the morning, why shouldn’t he?

Boyd, the owner, had turned him away, though, with a smile that cared. He gave Adam a hug, plenty of well wishing, and an “I’m proud of you, kid”. Tears had prickled in Adam’s eyes at that. It made Adam feel better about this whole endeavor, knowing that there were people that hoped he succeeded.

So he had gone home. There’s not much you can do to get ready before a concert besides to triple check the things you’ve already double checked.

So Adam checked his performance tuxedo for spots of lint, for wrinkles. Checked his shoes for any scuffs. Checked he had all his sheet music, his notes. Checked that he had his conductor’s baton.

This double checking ate up enough time to where he felt okay in eating lunch and packing something to eat for dinner before the concert tonight at eight. He took his time spreading peanut butter on the bread. There was a lot he had to be worried about, a lot he had weighing on his mind. So he focused all his brainpower on spreading the peanut butter all the way to the edge of the bread.

Time was being sticky again. All his double and triple checks and sandwich stalling had amounted to thirty minutes of time wasting. He still had an hour before he had to be at the Aglionby concert hall.

It couldn’t hurt to drive over there early. Especially if today was a day that his car decided not to cooperate.

 

Well, shit. He knew he was going to be early, but he hadn’t figured on being quite so early.

_I should just go in. The door to the hall is supposed to be unlocked._

Decisively, Adam clambered out of his car. Opening the back seat door, he collected all his myriad concert supplies. Sure enough, the concert hall was, in fact, open.

And, judging by the faint strains of violin music he could barely make out, he was not as alone there as he thought.

Two conflicting thoughts immediately popped into Adam’s head: “I hope that’s not Ronan” and “Please, God, let that be Ronan.”

The door slammed loudly behind him, and the violin stopped instantly.

_I guess I get to find out now._

 

* * *

  
  


A door slammed somewhere in the building. Ronan stopped playing Chainsaw, and went to go investigate.

The idea that it might be Adam sent a thrill through him that quickly leached into dread.

_You have a job. Act like a professional about this._

Squaring his shoulders, he rounded the corner.

And saw Adam.

His stomach shrunk back towards his spine. _I really don’t think I can do this._

Ha. Like Ronan would let himself off that easily.

“Hey. Adam. I–( _just fucking do it_ )–I had some questions about style and tone in a few sections that you need to resolve.” ( _Coward_ )

Adam blinked at him, and then cautiously responded. “Sure.”

The taste of the words Ronan wasn’t saying stung bitter in his mouth. He felt them, like oil or a poison, coating his tongue and choking in his throat.

The words were so present in his mouth that he was certain Adam would see them if he so much as breathed too heavily.

He placed Chainsaw under his chin. He had inadvertently made a decision, and so now he had to live with it.

Besides, with the concert so close, it’s not like this practice wasn’t _needed_. It was just that other things were needed too.

Ronan needed to apologize, to explain himself. He needed Adam to look him in the eye. He needed to get his head screwed on right.

Instead of any of that, though, all he got were quiet, passive corrections of his playing.

 

They had worked through most of the main problem areas when everyone else started arriving. Adam began to walk towards the main auditorium to meet the rest of the orchestra.

“Adam, wait!”

Adam stopped suddenly. “What is it, Lynch? I still need to go over some stuff with the rest of the orchestra.”

“I’m sorry.”

At Adam’s stony silence, Ronan continued. “I am so, _so_ sorry for what I said to you. It was a shitty thing for me to say, and there is no excusing it.”

He grabbed Adam’s hand while Adam looked dispassionately on. “I really do care about you. I’m just shit at proving it. Please, _please_ give me an opportunity to prove it. Or don’t. I just want you to be happy, even if that happiness is away from me. I just want you to know how sorry I am.”

Adam pulled his hand away from Ronan, gentle and deliberate. He wasn’t looking Ronan in the eyes at all now. “I appreciate your apology. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make sure my orchestra is prepared for the concert this evening.”

Ronan thought he saw tears gathering in the corners of Adam’s eyes before Adam quickly turned away and began walking towards the main room with everyone practicing in it. Maybe. It just as easily could have been a figment of his imagination: a product of his own heavy hopes.

He hadn’t planned on saying quite that much to Adam. He was planning on just apologizing like a normal human being. Instead, he just _had_ to be some sort of desperate and clingy wimp who can’t control himself.

There were only two things he could do now: perform his best for the concert tonight, and give Adam plenty of space.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he went out in the main room like he was supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the final countdown! The chapter 19 should be up Wednesday, and the epilogue should follow on Friday.
> 
> Don't worry, Adam isn't really still upset with Ronan, he's just preoccupied.
> 
> If you haven't yet checked out the official playlist, you might want to in preparation for the actual concert in the next chapter. I also included the song that I got the title from on the playlist (I'm a sucker for Mamma Mia!).


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey
> 
> The playlist for this fic is on youtube [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlwze6kEQ7rySYU2oTuBreRQMEPp0PTqW), and is being updated as I write more each week.
> 
> This is the chapter you'll want to listen to at least [this movement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDqBYT4R8nk) of the violin concerto.

Ronan had looked at him with such earnestness, such bald hope, that Adam had no idea what to even say to him. Which is why he had ended up saying the first thing that came to mind: an overly formal acknowledgement that made him sound like he was was more pissed than he actually was.

_God, this whole ordeal could just be solved if I quit dancing around and talked to him like a mature adult._

And then he had absolutely no time to actually act on his new found resolution. He spend the next several hours in a blur of fixing broken strings, checking reeds, handing out rosin, making last minute copies of lost music, checking that everyone had the proper concert attire, and running through the problem sections just that one last time.

Eventually, it was nearly time to go out on stage. Adam was choking down the peanut butter sandwich he had made earlier, and chasing it with swigs from his water bottle. His nerves clotted in his throat.

“Hey, quit worrying. You’re going to do just fine.”

Adam inhaled a bit of water at the sound of Cynthia’s voice, then began coughing and spluttering.

She continued as if nothing had happened. “Everything is going to work out fine. I’m almost completely certain that this concert will go down without a hitch. You’re basically a magician when it comes to this stuff. And,” she said, glancing around and pausing her eyes slightly (so slightly that Adam thought he might have imagined it) on Ronan, “I’m sure all the other stuff will work out too.”

“Thanks for your confidence in me. I hope I won’t disappoint.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Cynthia said, winking at him. “Now go get ‘em, tiger.”

Adam did a last minute check, then went to go change into his performance tuxedo.

It was probably the single most expensive thing he owned. He straightened his bow tie in the mirror, then ran the soft fabric between his fingers to ground himself.

For better or for worse, this night would be a defining moment for him. The audience would contain a few representatives from Juilliard. They were looking to give him a scholarship tonight. Without the scholarship, his dreams of Juilliard would be nothing but that: dreams.

Before he could let himself get too sick with nerves, he jerked away from where he was still standing in front of the mirror. Everything was going to go perfect tonight.

It had to.

 

Adam blinked, and it was time for the orchestra to take their place on the stage. As they took their seats, there was a smattering of applause.

It was just him and Ronan backstage at this point. Adam could vaguely hear the sound of the introductions and everyone getting settled.

Ronan reached out as if to grab his arm, but then awkwardly settled his arm at his side. He was wearing a tuxedo, and he looked like the perfect image of a dashing musician. Except…

“Your tie is crooked.”

Ronan tried to look down at his own neck, then made a noise of frustration when he found the task impossible.

“It’s okay. I’ll get it.”

Adam adjusted the bowtie with gentle fingers, then let his hands linger at Ronan’s neck. Ronan looked apprehensive and anticipatory at the same time.

It was nearly time for the two of them to go out on stage. _Better make it quick, I suppose._

Adam cleared his throat, more for something to do rather than any obstruction. “We haven’t been good about talking about things. After the concert, the two of us need to have a nice long talk about _everything_ that’s been going on. We’ve both got some emotional baggage or whatnot, and both we need to know what we’re in for if this relationship progresses.”

Here he allowed himself a self deprecating laugh. “I don’t know about you, but I always like to have a plan going into things.”

Ronan nodded. “Yeah, no, sounds like a good idea to me. Talking about things.”

Their names were being called in the concert hall now.

Ronan whispered to him “best of luck!” before walking out to his place.

Right behind Ronan, Adam walked out on stage, wearing his performance tuxedo. His orchestra stood up as he walked to his platform. The audience was clapping. _This is really happening._

He made sure everything was in its proper place. Stepping up on to the platform, he vaguely felt Ronan off to his left. Everyone else in the orchestra had sat down by now.

He held up the conductor’s baton as the room went completely silent. For a split instant, he imagined that the audience could hear the blood rushing in his veins as his frantic heart pushed it faster and faster. The instant passed.

He began conducting, his arms swinging widely as the horns and strings came in strongly. The drums hit their cues perfectly. The melody passed from section to section: the flutes, the violins, the trumpets, the cellos, the oboes, and back to the violins.

Every section was busy with its own bit of the song, only to join back in, all together, for a crescendo.

The sections all dropped out at the same time. The only sound was the cello section keeping the rhythm.

And then.

Ronan’s violin began to sing out. The notes climbed higher and higher effortlessly. The other sections were accenting Ronan now: the violin soloist is what what his piece was really about.

Adam couldn’t see him, but he knew that Ronan’s bow was flying across the strings, and sometimes multiple at once.

It looks like Ronan had mastered the softness in the sections he’d had trouble in before.

At this point, this is usually where Adam’s terrible luck came in.

But not this time.

This was the best any of them had ever played. No one missed cues. Everyone stayed on tempo. The dynamics were perfect. Everything was precisely in tune.

Everyone knew how important this was for Adam, and they had done their absolute best to make sure that this went right for him.

Adam felt the warmth of their goodwill as they continued through the music.

And it only got better from that point. His entire symphony was about forty minutes long, give or take. The impeccable skill and carefulness they had displayed in the first ten minutes carried on for the entirety of the music.

Sometime in the second movement, he allowed himself to glance over at Ronan slightly. Ronan’s eyes seemed to glow with something like reverence. Their eyes met for just a slight moment.

Adam allowed a gentle and secret little grin to grace his lips.

The third and final movement started. The music was soft and beautiful, just like it was supposed to be, until it hit the final crescendo.

All the sections were frantically playing the rapid progression of notes. The notes were fast, yes, but certainly not hasty.

The orchestra and Ronan finished the piece as they’d started it: a perfect testament to technique and to the music itself. Adam couldn’t have been any happier as Ronan finished the final set of trills.

Lowering his arms, Adam heard a few people begin to clap. His heart made a sharp dip down before he really heard the applause swell.

It was thunderous.

And it was for his music.

He turned to face the crowd.

 

* * *

 

The noise was almost a physical presence in the concert hall, standing right next to the bodies of the orchestra and the audience.

Ronan couldn’t help the way he was looking at Adam, but he was most certainly not the only one. Adam was radiant; he was jubilant, light, and more carefree than Ronan had ever seen.

And he was beautiful.

Adam was now bowing to the audience. The applause became louder, if that was even possible. Gesturing at Ronan, Adam indicated that he should take his bow as well.

Ronan did so, and took pleasure in knowing that at least some of the applause was for him tonight. The lightness of the atmosphere nearly caused him to break the Ronan Lynch brand and start grinning from his own elation.

Adam's eyes met his. _Later_ , they promised.

And just like that, a smile escaped and made its way onto his lips.

They ended up having to walk off stage and back on it three times. Ronan was decidedly less fond of that musical tradition each time he was forced to walk back on stage for yet another set of bows.

 

By the time everyone finally cleared out the concert hall, leaving him and Adam alone, it was some time past midnight.

Adam still seemed to be running on whatever nervous energy had propelled him for the entire day. There was nothing left for him to do now, though. And so when the custodial staff was locking up the building, Ronan and Adam took their belongings and began to walk aimlessly down the streets of Henrietta.

They had both changed out of their concert attire earlier, and Ronan had given all his things to Gansey to take back to Monmouth while Adam had put his own belongings into his car.

It was just the two of them in the foggy state of semi-reality brought by the odd hour of the day. Their aimless walking had brought them to a park.

Adam took a seat on one of the swings hanging from the rusted swing set. “So.”

Since all the other swings were either broken or wrapped entirely around the top bar, Ronan sat on the ground in front of him. “So.”

“I don’t know where to start with this.” His feet scuffed in the dirt in front of him. “I’m not too great at the whole ‘sharing feelings’ thing.”

Ronan toyed with a blade of grass that had grown with considerable audacity in the bare dirt in front of the swing. “Me either. Which is why we’re at this point I guess.”

Eyeing Adam through his eyelashes, he continued, “The beginning is usually the best place to start, or at least that’s what Gansey says.”

Adam gripped the chains on either side of him tightly. “I suppose that works.”

He sighed then, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Ronan saw more than heard him take a deep breath.

“Well, here it goes.”

And Adam began to tell his story, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is nearly it. Just the epilogue remains.
> 
> We won't see the conversation at all, by the way. Just know that it lasted a long time because a) both Adam and Ronan told their story and b) unloading all your emotional baggage is a time-consuming process.


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at asexualrichardgansey

It was a Tuesday, sometime in June, and Adam was checking his mail.

He’d been checking the mail with a growing mixture of anticipation and dread every day for the past two weeks. It was approaching the end of the window in which he was supposed to hear from Julliard whether or not he’d received the scholarship. He was sick with anxiety about it.

Unlocking the metal box, Adam felt his heart stop in his chest. There was a large envelope in the mailbox. Pulling it out with shaking hands, he could help but just hold it in his hands for a moment and stare at the Billiard logo embossed on the front. _This is it._

Turning the envelope over to open it, he considered the weight of it in his hands. _Surely they wouldn’t send such a large packet if I hadn’t received it._

Adam could barely open it, his hands were shaking so much. He didn’t want to let himself get too hopeful, just in case it somehow was a rejection letter.

When he finally managed to extract the letter from the envelope, his eyes eagerly searched for the magic words.

_‘Dear Mr. Parrish,_

_Congratulations! It gives me immense pleasure to inform you that you are the recipient of…’_

Adam’s knees nearly buckled in his relief. He felt as if he were floating. He was so elated that this didn’t feel real, almost.

Running into the church office, he dialed a number he knew by heart, needing simultaneously to share his joy and to be grounded.

“Hello?”

Ronan’s voice crackled through the old telephone.

“I got it.” Adam glanced over the paper for what felt like the hundredth time in the past minute.

“What?” Ronan sounded groggy and confused; he must have just woken up.

“I got the scholarship. I can go to Julliard. _I can go to Julliard._ ”

He heard a muffled THUMP! through the phone. “Holy shit, babe, that’s fantastic! I’ll be over in like ten minutes.”

“Alright, see you then.” Adam hung up and sank the ground. All his work had paid off. Adam let out a little laugh.

He had done it.

Against all the odds, he had done it.

He was going to Julliard.

 

* * *

 

Ronan had been woken up by the familiar sound of the finale to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. A nod to his boyfriend’s favorite composer.

_Adam._

He called often enough from the church phone to talk to Ronan that Ronan eventually made Gansey change his phone to where Adam’s number had a different ringtone from the default one so he would know not to ignore those calls. The key to a healthy relationship was communication. The key to communication was Ronan answering his goddamn cell phone.

Leaning almost entirely off the bed, Ronan answered his phone groggily.

And was woken up nearly immediately by the eager tilt to Adam’s words.

Adam’s voice crackled because of the old church phone, but Ronan could still hear him just fine. “I can go to Julliard.”

Ronan’s arm collapsed underneath him and he hit the floor in a heap of limbs. He held on to his phone though.

“Holy shit, babe that’s fantastic!”

Scrambling around on the floor, Ronan found his jeans and began trying to pull them on while simultaneously holding his phone.

“I’ll be there in like ten minutes.”

Ronan heard the click that meant Adam had hung up, and began frantically grabbing his things. _Wallet. Shoes. Shirt. Keys._

_Shit._

_Where are the keys?_

Muttering “keys” repeatedly under his breath, Ronan began to search his room for the keys to his BMW.

A few minutes search turned up nothing, and so Ronan put his hands in his pockets to try and remember where he had put his keys. His fingers jingled something as he shoved them down into his pockets. _That’s where the little buggers are._

Thundering down the stairs of Monmouth and throwing himself into his car, he raced to St. Agnes Catholic church where Adam was waiting.

 

If anyone had told Ronan a year ago (hell, even just six months ago) that he would have a boyfriend that he was madly in love with, he’d have laughed in their face. If someone had told him that he'd actually talk about everything that had happened to him with said boyfriend, he probably would have just laughed even harder.

But that was before he had known Adam Parrish.

The past couple months had been rough for both of them. Like Adam had said at the concert, the two of them had a _lot_ of emotional baggage to work through, and they weren’t anywhere close to being healed yet.

They had fought a lot, both with themselves and with each other.

Ronan figured though, that the biggest step between childhood and adulthood is learning how to fix your mistakes as best as you can. Ronan tried not to let his pride trip him up, tried not to let his anger get the better of him.

Tried to learn the difference between anger and stress. ( _That had led to a few...interesting encounters with Adam that were certainly good for blowing off some stress, amongst other things._ )

Ronan had grown a lot, and he knew Adam had too. They both still had trouble opening up and talking about their problems. But they were getting better.

Hopefully, they’d continue to get better for years to come. Together.

Ronan liked their odds for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you've liked reading this story as much as I've liked writing it.
> 
> I'm hopefully going to keep writing, so expect other things sometime in the foreseeable future.


End file.
